Brilliant. That’s the word, the only word, that came to mind as I started reading Palahniuk’s Lullaby. I struggled to keep reading, as I was too impressed with the prose. As a writer, reading Palahniuk made me feel like a dancing monkey in comparison.

By the time I hit the halfway mark, I struggled to keep reading for an altogether different reason. It had become too fragmented, repetitive, and just plain boring.

At the beginning, this passage stopped me. Full stop. Absolute. No going further out of awe:

“Helen, she’s wearing a white suit and shoes, but not Snow White. It’s more the white of downhill skiing in Banff with a private car and driver on call, fourteen pieces of matched luggage, and a suite at the Hotel Lake Louise.”

By the time I had reached page 116, about halfway through, I’ve read about twenty passages stylistically the same.

This color. But not color like this, more like this extended metaphor.

Dull.

First time, brilliant. First few times, brilliant.

Twentieth, dull.

Okay. I might be exaggerating with the twenty mark. I didn’t count, but it’s repetitive enough to make it annoying. Unlike his other “choruses,” like “I know this because Tyler knows this” or “these noise-aholics, these peace-aphobics” (and all the variations on that theme) or the counting to remain calm, it doesn’t tie anything together. It doesn’t do a thing past a look-at-how-well-I-can-write. Over and over, which defeats its own purpose. It’s like those movie scenes so overdone they’re obviously this-is-my-Oscar-winning-performance-scene.

Again with the ads Oyster, one of the many despicable characters in this novel, takes out to blackmail corporations. Really. Really. Old. I get it. I don’t have to be beaten over the head with it.

**spoilers** — **trigger warnings**

Then, on page 177 (Ch 29), after I skipped dozens of pages of the same-ol’, same-ol’ repetition, where no new character development is revealed nor is the plot projected forward, I came to the part where Streater remembers orally and vaginally raping his dead wife. Of course, he only thought she was unconscious, so it was just rape, not necrophilia. “It’s not rape if they’re dead.”

This is where I stopped reading.

Not sure which was more disturbing, the fact that Streater calls it “the best he had” since before his child was born or that he didn’t even bother to check on her after he got off with her unconscious, unresponsive form.

I’m utterly disgusted by Palahniuk, and I’m not sure I’ll be reading anymore. Darkness is one thing. Disturbing is one thing, and I like things very dark, but something about this is beyond revolting. Thankfully, the protagonist and everyone, really, are all horrific people, so at least the rape isn’t brushed off as something acceptable. That’s the only thing that might get me to try another book.

This is the first Palahniuk book in which I’d gotten this far. I’m partially into Fight Club at the moment, the second time I’ve tried to read it. The first I found difficult to keep going for the same reason at the beginning: blown away by the prose. That, coupled with the movie playing in my head, made it hard for me to read. I’m trying again, and I hope to get through it this time.

Two stars, only because of the brilliant prose. I wouldn’t recommend this book to anyone.

View all my reviews

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London. Appropriate for teens.

Get your very own copy of The Zombies of Mesmer in paperback or for your Kindle (FREE for Prime Members)! Don’t have a Kindle? Kindle apps are available for smart phones, PCs, and tablets. Have another eReader? Email me about other formats.

-_Q

Chapter 1: In Which Nickie Nick Discovers Her Destiny

The toes of my oversized boots searched for footing along the back of the countertop as I slid through the small back window, clutching the sill for support. I always came in and out of the pantry window when I went on my “adventures,” as Fanny the Nanny called them. My parents would never dare come into this part of the house. It simply was not done, as it only held the laundry room, pantry, and kitchen. It was a place for servants, and my parents would not lower themselves enough to be in a place of servitude. The servants themselves were not down here unless it was just before or just after a meal. So even if they caught me, they would not tell my parents. Not even Fanny would tell.

I lowered myself to a standing position and brushed the snow from my patched overcoat, dusting the sink with a sprinkling of snowflakes which melted almost as soon as they hit the countertop. A sudden, insistent clacking sound startled me. I turned from the window to see Fanny glaring up at me and impatiently tapping her pointed black boot against the pantry’s stone floor.

“Where have you been?” Fanny the Nanny scolded. She was not really my nanny, of course. No seventeen-year-old girl needed a nanny. She was more like a governess, but I still liked the sound of Fanny the Nanny. And more importantly, she didn’t.

“Out,” I replied in mock defiance, crossing my arms and holding my ground.

“Just look at you. You are a mess, and you must make your grand entrance within the hour! The party is about to begin and your guests will be arriving any minute.” She stood glaring up at me with her chubby hands balled up in fists and set firmly on her hips. “Get down from there this instant, young lady. What would your mother say?”

“She would not say a thing, Fanny, because you shall not tell her a thing,” I replied, taking her proffered hand and jumped down onto the stone floor beside her.

“You have been with that Conrad again, haven’t you?”

“Not just Conrad. With Franklin, Rufus, and Edwin as well,” I replied with a smirk, which would have sounded so scandalous to any passersby, a girl talking about all the boys with whom she had been keeping company. But it was far from scandalous. “They are just friends, Fanny, as you well know.” But she did like to tease nonetheless.

“Friends or no, my lamb. You are cutting it very close tonight.”

I took off my scarf and cap, letting my dark hair fall about my shoulders, still damp from the quickly melting snowflakes. With the gas range in the adjacent kitchen, burning virtually all day and night, it was rather hot on this level. Quite the change from the bitter sting of the London’s streets in December. “They were cold and hungry, and I was not going to leave them out there like that. Birthday or not.”

Fanny flashed me a smile, then sighed, “Always thinking of others. Tenderhearted, you are.” She took my hat and scarf, then held out her hand again waiting for my overcoat. I unbuttoned it and handed it over, revealing a dingy waistcoat over a pair of dirty dungarees. “Ugh,” Fanny grunted. “Upstairs with you, young lady. Wash up and get out of those awful clothes. I never should have gotten them for you.”

“Just think how much worse it would be if I had gone in my fine white dress?” I teased, then spun around the pantry as if dancing at a ball.

Fanny laughed and shook her head. I loved making her laugh with my antics, as long as mother was not around. With mother, it was all propriety and tedium. With Fanny, I could be myself.

“Boots, too.” She pointed to the filthy, wet boots on my feet and the muddy footprints marking the steps of my mock waltz.

“Oops.” I eased them off, smearing more packed, muddy snow on the stone floor. I gave Fanny my best please-forgive-me expression and batted my eyelashes once or twice.

“Upstairs with you, missy,” she scolded and flicked the scarf at my derrière as I left.  “Don’t you dare let your mother see you like that. I should never hear the end of it,” she called after me.

To be safe, I used the servant’s back staircase to get upstairs, and after checking that my parents were nowhere in sight, I snuck across the hardwood floors in my stocking feet on tip toes, careful not to slip. I made my way down the hall and disappeared into my bedchamber, undetected. Just as I was closing my chamber door, the music for my impending debutante ball floated up the main staircase and filled me with dread.

“We must do what society demands,” I said aloud in a mocking sing-song way, repeating what my mother said to me far too often.

I shall play their game and draw out this marriage thing as long as I can, hopefully until I will be regarded a spinster. Then I can get on with more interesting pursuits in life, like learning and traveling. 

I dreamt of going on the Grand Tour and helping people who were not as fortunate or “well-born,” whatever that meant.

I shuddered when I saw the fine white ball gown with its frills and ruffles and short lacy sleeves spread out on my bed. A pair of white gloves lay across the dress, and all I wanted to do was to smear the dirt from my hands all over them. How I loathed this day.

The water in the corner wash basin was still lukewarm. After removing my dingy boy’s clothes, I stood before the small mirror in just my camisole and pantalettes and, regarding myself, took a deep breath to stop the tears from coming. I took the white washcloth and washed my face, hands, and arms. At least I got the satisfaction of staining their ceremonial white washcloth. When I was finished with it, it was as dingy as the boy’s clothes in which I felt so much more comfortable. I picked up the brush and began to brush my hair. It was naturally curly, which would be a blessing this evening, as there was no time to curl it before my grand entrance.

Mother insisted on me making a grand entrance, American style.

Traditionally, the debutante was to greet all her guests as they arrived, but mother wanted to do it the new way. She was a paradox, both ashamed of being considered of the nouveau riche, fairly new into London’s society, and at the same time trumpeting her American heritage and modern ways.

I heard the door close behind me, and I turned to see Fanny enter frantically. She held a steaming pot of water. “Still not finished washing up?” she said in her strong Scottish brogue.

She rushed over, put the kettle on an iron trivet next to the wooden washbasin stand, and then, with a look of disgust back at me, took the cloudy water over to my bedroom window. When she opened it, a gust of refreshingly cold wind blew in, carrying a few stray snowflakes, and it filled my heart with momentary joy. Brisk, beautiful winter weather.

Fanny tossed the dirty water out the window into the alley below before shutting and locking the window, along with my joy, bringing me back to the reality at hand.

“Perhaps we can make some excuse, like I’m deathly ill. Then I shan’t have to parade around like a peacock, on display for all the eligible bachelors. It is like I’m nothing more than chattle or a sheep on market days, presented for the picking.”

“Now, Nickie, we have discussed this. It is just one night. You can make due for just one night.” Steam rose toward the ceiling as she poured the fresh water into the now empty basin. Taking the browned washcloth between the utmost tip of her thumb and forefinger (with another sneer of exaggerated disgust), she dipped it into the hot water and started scrubbing places I had obviously missed.

“Balderdash, one night. They are trying to plan the rest of my life! I’m most certainly no debutante, and I have absolutely no interest in marriage at seventeen. I just want to be left alone, and I really hate white, frilly dresses.” I pouted and crossed my arms like a petulant child.

“We must get you into that frilly white dress and fix this rats’ nest.” She turned a blind eye to my mock tantrum, trading the washcloth for the hairbrush and tugging against the tangles.

I bit my lip and tried not to cry out. It felt as if she would pull the hair from my head.

“One should enjoy their seventeenth birthday, shouldn’t one? But not me, no sir.”

“Quickly,” she said, ignoring my continued protests and putting the brush on the washbasin stand’s lower shelf. “Corset.”

There was that feeling of dread again. Corsets. Not fun. I assumed the position. Against the corner of my four poster bed, I hugged one of the ornately turned shafts and waited as Fanny laced the back of the corset over my camisole and pantalettes.

“Do you think they will find a husband for me tonight,” I asked Fanny quietly.

“Possibly. There were already many guests arriving as I headed upstairs. We really must hurry.”

“I don’t wish to marry for duty. I want to marry for love.”

“Yes. You and every other girl in your position. Such is life in these times. At your station,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Then I don’t wish to marry at all.”

“I’m afraid that’s not up to me, nor is it really up to you, if you want to gain your inheritance,” Fanny said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

“The devil with my inheritance. They can send me into the country–or off as a governess or even put me to work in their blasted factory dying linen, but I shall never submit to marry. After all, you never married.”

“It is just one night,” she reminded me again.

“Of course, what society demands,” I sneered. “The ball is one thing, and I suppose it will be relatively painless, but I absolutely will not submit to marry someone I don’t fancy.”

She tugged on the strings of the corset and cinched it snugly around my middle. I caught my breath and tried to push the front of it down beneath my breasts.

“Leave it alone.” Fanny swatted my hand away. “Relax your breath or I will not be able to close it.”

“I shan’t be able to breathe,” I protested.

“You will not have to breathe, much. You’ll just be standing around and dancing some, not the level of activity you are used to, my dear,” she said with a hint of sarcasm, referring to my adventures. “I’m quite sure you will be just fine.” She wrenched the corset tighter, causing me to grasp the bed post more firmly to avoid being pulled away from it. “Have you been sneaking apple tarts again?” she asked with an accusatory lilt. “This is rather difficult to close tonight, my lamb. Hold on tight.”

I couldn’t take a deep breath as the corset already confined me too much for that, so I took a shallow breath and held onto the bedpost more tightly than ever.

A chill ran up my back, and I looked over at the window thinking another gust of the winter air had come through, but it was still closed tightly. The chill continued and filled my entire body. I watched the goose bumps travel up my bare arms. Then the chill turned to a burning fire that surged through my limbs, chasing the goose bumps away. Colors became brighter around me. The scent of new satin filled my nostrils and I heard guests milling about downstairs through my closed door. My entire body felt full of energy. Life. Strength. Power.

“One, two…three,” Fanny counted. As she reached “three,” she pulled with all her might and I held on to the bedpost with all mine. With a loud crack, I fell backwards onto Fanny with the bedpost still in my arms!

“Oh, my graces!” Fanny exclaimed.

“I–I’m sorry,” I stammered, pushing the broken bedpost away from us. “I didn’t mean to, Fanny. It just came off in my arms!” Moving off Fanny, I looked up at the bed trying to make sense of what just happened. The canopy sagged on the corner onto which I was so recently holding. The other three posts still held up the wooden frame around the top from falling completely, but it definitely sagged.

“Oh, my graces!” Fanny said again. “It has happened. Hasn’t it?”

“What?” I was still not sure how I broke the thick post off from the rest of the bed. I turned back to Fanny on the floor with me. She looked at me with an open mouth and wide eyes, as if I was some sort of circus sideshow exhibition.

“The prophecy! You are she after all,” she said, eyes wide. Her trembling hands covered her cheeks. “I thought when nothing happened today that the witches had been mistaken, but you are her after all!” Fanny exclaimed again. She sat on the floor staring up at me in surprise and her skirts crumpled beneath her.

“What witches? What are you talking about?” I demanded.

A knock at the door interrupted us.

“Nicole?” My mother’s voice sounded muffled through the door, but her tone made it quite clear that she was rather impatient. “It is almost time. I do hope you are dressed.”

“Just a moment!” Fanny’s shrill, excited voice filled the room. “We shall be down presently, madam. Don’t look! We want you to be surprised at your own daughter’s beauty. Oh, and she does look lovely, madam. So very lovely.” Fanny took the broken post and shoved it under the bed. “We’ll be down presently,” she repeated.

“Very well, but do make haste,” my mother said through the door. Her footsteps trailed down the hallway and I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding.

Fanny sighed a relief next to me.

“Quickly.” Fanny scrambled to her feet. “I must get this corset fastened and you in that dress. Hold still,” she said, jerking me up and grabbing hold of the corset strings again.

“What witches!” I demanded.

She cinched the corset as tight as she could.

“Let us hope we can fasten your dress, or you will be quite the sight,” she said, ignoring my question. She was ignoring a lot of my comments tonight. “I cannot cinch this corset closed. You and those apple tarts!”

After I felt her tie the corset off at the bottom, I spun around and took her by the shoulders. “What witches, Fanny? What prophecy? What just happened?”

“There is not time for it now.” She pulled herself from my grasp and gathered the white dress from the bed. “Put on your petticoat. There is no time for dawdling!”

“I will not do another thing until you answer my questions,” I insisted, placing my fists firmly on my hips.

She sighed, defeated. “Very well. Put on the petticoat, and I shall tell you as you dress.” She stuck a chubby finger in my face. “But you must promise me that nothing I say will stop you from behaving properly tonight at your ball. It is very important, now more than ever, that you keep up appearances. Do you understand me?” She turned and gathered up the frilly dress from the bed.

“That depends on what you say, Fanny. You are frightening me.” Chills ran up my arms. I tried to warm them away by rubbing my hands over my bare skin, but nothing could take the feeling away. Something had changed in that moment. I had changed.

“Promise me, Nicole.” She stood there with the white dress in her hands and looked at me with a very serious expression. I had never in all my life seen her look so dour, yet at the same time, I did see a hint of joy in her eyes.

“All right,” I gave in. “I promise. Now tell me.” I stepped into the petticoat and tied it around my back. She put the white dress over my head and arms, and while my head was still covered by the white satin she said, “Your birth fulfilled an age-old prophecy that a Hawthorne would be born prematurely on Midwinter’s Night, and on the seventeenth year from the day of her birth, she would be called upon and bestowed with the powers necessary to protect humanity from evil supernatural fiends like vampires.”

My head cleared the white satin and I looked at Fanny the Nanny, expecting to see some sign that she was just having me on, but there was none.

“Evil supernatural fiends? Vampires? Really, Fanny. Is this all a game?”

“No, my dear. I should have told you before tonight, but there had been no signs before, well,” she said with a look back to the broken bed.

“This is preposterous!” But there was no denying the change I had felt run through me. Something was definitely different. Still, evil supernatural fiends? Please.

She hurriedly fastened my dress in the back and fluffed up the blasted bustle. I truly did hate those frivolous things. Leading me to the dressing table, she pushed me down in the chair and began working on my hair.

“Quickly now, the powder and blush. We shall have to work together. Your mother will no doubt be coming back soon to collect you.”

“You are serious.” The look on her face made that clear. I picked up the powder puff and tended to the shine on my nose, cheeks, and shoulders. The white gown had a rather wide décolletage, so there was much skin to cover.

Fanny swept my chestnut curls up into a loose twist and fastened it with a silver hair comb.

“I’m quite serious, my dear. Oh my, I just really don’t know where to begin, and we have so little time,” she said while twisting a few stray locks into place along the side of my face. I began putting some color on my cheeks and lips.

“How about the beginning?” I offered. I was doing my best to remain calm, and the tight corset certainly reminded me not to get overly excited and remain quite proper and still. Society dictates that ladies must keep their feelings well hidden. After living in this household for so many years, I excelled in skills that would be essential to make it through this night. Especially now.

“I come from a long line of witches, and we have watched your family for generations. It was your ancestor John Hathorne who condemned some of the witches in Salem over in The Colonies. After that, the American coven wrote to their sister coven here in the England about a series of dreams they had had after those horrid trials were over. They dreamed that a descendant of Hathorne would one day set it right. It would be a girl and she would inherit the powers of the damned to be used for good, working with the witches and fighting the vampires, demons, and even fey from the unseelie court.”

“Vampires?” I said with a derisive scoff. “Really?”

“Listen child,” she began as she draped a string of pearls around my neck and fastened them in the back. “This is no jest. You wanted to hear it before your ball, so I’m telling you quickly. We can talk in more detail later.”

“All right.” I found all this rather hard to believe. It was merely another of Fanny’s strange stories, just as she had told me my whole life. She was just telling me another ghost story to entertain me before the ball. That’s all this was.

“You were conceived on Beltane, a holy day for my people and the day associated with the holy hawthorn tree, from which your family were originally named. You were born on a moor a mere seven and a half months later, premature, on Midwinter’s Night. It was exactly where my coven had foretold: The Forest of Bowland in Yorkshire.”

“A moor in Yorkshire. Really?” I said, still not believing her. “What a tale you tell.”

She pinned a few curls into place and decorated them with some fripperies as I clipped the pearl earrings onto my earlobes. “Yes. A moor. Your parents were resting in the country during the latter part of the pregnancy, but your father got word from the factory that needed to be dealt with presently.”

“Of course,” I breathed through clenched teeth. That I believed. “Business always comes first.” It was why I hardly knew my parents. I had always been second to their precious textile factory.

“Your boots.” She knelt beside me, and I offered her my stockinged feet. She went to work lacing them up and continued, “Your mother didn’t want to be left behind, insisting that there was much time before the due date. Although her doctors advised her against it, they left early morning on the 21st, dreaming of Christmas in the city, but the driver took a wrong turn which ended in tragedy for him and almost for you and your mother. After hitting a large stone on the moor, it set your mother into labor. I was nearby, and not by accident, as it was where your birth had been foretold, as I previously said. Since I was a trained midwife, I delivered you. You were so very tiny. Three fortnights early, you were. It is a miracle you survived, especially after such a traumatic birth on such a bitterly cold night.”

She straightened my skirts over the white boots, got up from her kneeling position, and started fussing with my hair again. “I held you in my arms and I felt the definition of love. I understood the purpose of life. You were powerful even then, Nick.”

She reached around the back of her neck to unclasp a necklace and then lifted it out of the front of her bodice. Offering it to me, she said, “This is a powerful amulet, my dove. It will protect you from a vampire’s mind power. They will be unable to compel you or influence your thoughts. Keep a clear head, my lamb.”

“Thank you, Fanny.” I allowed her to clasp the necklace around my own neck. The large black stone cradled in silver hung from a heavy chain.

“You may tuck it inside your gown, for I know it is old and rather garish.”

“Nonsense. ‘Tis beautiful, and I shall cherish it always. Although I will normally keep it protected, close to my heart, tonight I shall display it proudly for all to see.”

Tears filled her eyes and her nose turned red. I looked at her reflection through my dressing table mirror, and I knew this was all the truth. I felt it, just as I felt the power of which she spoke surging through me. I wanted to scream. To run. To fly, but I had to sit with my hands folded properly in my lap. I had to go downstairs and dance with potential husbands. I had to–

Another knock, more frantic than the last interrupted my thoughts.

“Nicole!” my mother demanded. “Your guests are waiting!”

“Coming mother.” I got up and turned to Fanny. The tears spilled down her plump cheeks and she looked at me with love. I went in to embrace her, but she stopped me.

“No, you will smudge your powder. Remember what I said, act properly tonight, but have a nice time. One only turns seventeen once. We shall talk more later.”

“We most certainly shall!” I said in a scolding tone, but with a smile in my voice and on my face. She smiled back at me and wiped the tears from her rosy cheeks.

“Don’t forget your gloves.” She indicated the long white gloves still on the bed.

I collected them and put them on hurriedly as I turned to leave, but she stopped me with a single word.

“Nicole.”

I turned back to her with my gloved hand resting on the door handle, my mother still pounding on the other side of the door.

“It was I who suggested you be named Nicole. Unusual name for this part of the world, I know, but it means ‘Victory of the People.’ And of that I have no doubt, my dear girl.” She wiped more tears from her cheeks.

Willing my own tears away, I turned the door handle to face my determined mother, but it broke off in my hand. I looked back at Fanny for guidance.

“Take care tonight,” she added, laughing now. “You are stronger than you think.”

-_Q

Thank you for reading this week’s installment of The Zombies of Mesmer: A Nickie Nick Vampire Hunter Novel.  Join me every Friday for a new installment of this YA Steampunk ParaRomance. Don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win an author-signed copy of the sequel, released Summer 2013. The more comments you leave, week after week, the more times you’ll be entered!

She was right.

Due to the cruelty of my former community and the constant hyper-vigilance, I left Austin and moved to Northern CA. KH stayed in touch with me and urged me to find a somatic therapist here. Although I live in a very rural area, after much searching and nearly giving up, I found one (SR).

He has become one of the three people I trust on this planet, the other two being my husband and my best friend.

In the first few months of therapy with SR, I felt rather confused as to why we weren’t doing any somatic work, as KH said my body held information about the rapes and it should be processed while it’s still fresh. Come to find out, we were doing somatic work all along, in small doses. That’s how somatic experiencing works: processing the trauma in small, manageable doses.

What is Somatic Experiencing?

Trauma is a fact of life…but it doesn’t have to be a life sentence.

A single brief exposure to an overwhelming event can throw a normally functioning individual into an abyss of emotional and physical suffering.

Whether or not a person rebounds from this dark edge of near insanity, or tumbles more deeply into the ”black hole” of trauma (or even exactly what causes it), has been an enigma to modern psychiatry.

Somatic Experiencing^®(SE)is a naturalistic approach to the understanding and healing of trauma developed by Peter A Levine over the past 40 years and taught throughout the world. SE^®is a clinical methodology based upon an appreciation of why animals in the wild are not traumatized by routine threats to their lives while humans, on the other hand, are readily overwhelmed and traumatized. Fortunately, the very same instincts (and related survival based brain systems) that are involved in the formation of trauma symptoms can be enlisted in the transformation and healing of trauma. Therapeutically, this “instinct to heal” and self-regulate is engaged through the awareness of body sensations that contradict those of paralysis and helplessness, and which restore resilience, equilibrium and wholeness.

(From somaticexperiencing.com)

The difference is that animals are free to work through the trauma, but humans living in a severely dysfunctional society that shames and silences victims, urging them to “let it go” and “think positively” rather than process their trauma “our bodies cannot complete the natural process.”

One example that hit me really hard in reading over some of Dr. Levine’s work was an analogy of a cheetah hunting an impala, chapter one of his incredible book Waking the Tiger. Here is an excerpt:

A herd of impala grazes peacefully in a lush wadi. Suddenly, the wind shifts, carrying with it a new, but familiar scent. The impala sense danger in the air and become instantly tensed to a hair trigger of alertness. They sniff, look and listen carefully for a few moments, but when no threat appears, the animals return to their grazing, relaxed yet vigilant.

Seizing the moment, a stalking cheetah leaps from its cover of dense shrubbery. As if it was one organism, the herd springs quickly toward a protective thicket at the wadi’s edge. One young impala trips for a split second, then recovers. But it is too late. In a blur, the cheetah lunges toward its intended victim, and the chase is on at a blazing sixty to seventy miles an hour.

At the moment of contact (or just before), the young impala falls to the ground, surrendering to its impending death. Yet, it may be uninjured. The now limp animal is not pretending to be dead. It has instinctively entered an altered state of consciousness shared by all mammals when death appears imminent. Many indigenous peoples view this phenomenon as a surrender of the spirit of the prey to the predator, which, in a manner of speaking, it is.

Physiologists call this altered state the ‘immobility’ or ‘freezing’ response. It is one of the three primary responses available to reptiles and mammals when faced with an overwhelming threat. The other two, fight and flight, are much more familiar to most of us. Less is known about the ‘immobility response.’ However, my work over the last twenty-five years has led me to believe that it is the single most important factor in uncovering the mystery of human trauma.

Nature has developed the immobility response for two good reasons. One, it serves as a last-ditch survival strategy. You might know it better as ‘playing possum.’ Take the young impala, for instance. There is a possibility that the cheetah may decide to drag its ‘dead’ prey to a place safe from other predators; or to its lair, where the food can be shared later with its cubs. During this time, the impala could awaken from its frozen state and make a hasty escape in an unguarded moment. When it is out of danger, the animal will literally ‘shake off’ the residual effects of the immobility response and gain full control of its body. It will then return to its normal life as if nothing had happened. Secondly, in freezing, the impala (and human) enters an altered state in which no pain is experienced. What that means for the impala is that it will not have to suffer while being torn apart by the cheetah’s sharp teeth and claws.

Most human cultures tend to judge this instinctive surrender in the face of overwhelming threat as a weakness tantamount to cowardice. However, underneath this judgment lies a deep human fear of immobility. We avoid it because it is a state very similar to death. This avoidance is understandable, but we pay dearly for it. The physiological evidence clearly shows that the ability to go into and come out of this natural response is the key to avoiding the debilitating effects of trauma. It is a gift to us from the wild.

I read those words and I broke down crying. Uncontrollably. Freezing is the most common response to trauma, including rape. Through victim blaming and other secondary traumas from this rape culture, people, police, even some horrible therapists blame the victim for not fighting back, for not screaming, for not saying NO, forcefully and loudly. The most common response is to freeze, a mixture between disbelief of what’s happening, the mind’s way to protect itself from the trauma, and a resignation to one’s fate in hopes of survival. It’s instinctual. It’s natural.

Rape victims are habitually blamed for it.

I was.

Traumatic symptoms are not caused by the ”triggering” event itself. They stem from the frozen residue of energy that has not been resolved and discharged; this residue remains trapped in the nervous system where it can wreak havoc on our bodies and spirits. The long-term, alarming, debilitating, and often bizarre symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) develop when we cannot complete the process of moving in, through and out of the ”immobility” or ”freezing” state. However, we can thaw by initiating and encouraging our innate drive to return to a state of dynamic equilibrium.

Let’s cut to the chase. The energy in our young impala’s nervous system as it flees from the pursuing cheetah is charged at seventy miles an hour. The moment the cheetah takes its final lunge, the impala collapses. From the outside, it looks motionless and appears to be dead, but inside, its nervous system is still supercharged at seventy miles an hour. Though it has come to a dead stop, what is now taking place in the impala’s body is similar to what occurs in your car if you floor the accelerator and stomp on the brake simultaneously. The difference between the inner racing of the nervous system (engine) and the outer immobility (brake) of the body creates a forceful turbulence inside the body similar to a tornado.

This tornado of energy is the focal point out of which form the symptoms of traumatic stress. To help visualize the power of this energy, imagine that you are making love with your partner, you are on the verge of climax, when suddenly, some outside force stops you. Now, multiply that feeling of withholding by one hundred, and you may come close to the amount of energy aroused by a life-threatening experience.

A threatened human (or impala) must discharge all the energy mobilized to negotiate that threat or it will become a victim of trauma. This residual energy does not simply go away. It persists in the body, and often forces the formation of a wide variety of symptoms; i.e., anxiety, depression, psychosomatic and behavioral problems. These symptoms are the organism’s way of containing (or corralling) the undischarged residual energy.

Animals in the wild instinctively discharge all their compressed energy and seldom develop adverse symptoms. We humans are not as adept in this arena. When we are unable liberate these powerful forces, we become victims of trauma. In our often unsuccessful attempts to discharge these energies, we may become fixated on them. Like a moth drawn to a flame, we may unknowingly and repeatedly create situations in which the possibility to release ourselves from the trauma trap exists, but without the proper tools and resources most of us fail. The result, sadly, is that many of us become riddled with fear and anxiety and are never fully able to feel at home with ourselves or our world.

Many war veterans and victims of rape know this scenario only too well. They may spend months or even years talking about their experiences, reliving them, expressing their anger, fear and sorrow but without passing through the primitive ”immobility responses” and releasing the residual energy, they will often remain stuck in the traumatic maze and continue to experience distress.

Fortunately, the same immense energies that create the symptoms of trauma, when properly engaged and mobilized, can transform the trauma and propel us into new heights of healing, mastery, and even wisdom. Trauma resolved is a great gift, returning us to the natural world of ebb and flow, harmony, love and compassion. Having spent the last twenty-five years working with people who have been traumatized in almost every conceivable fashion, I believe that we humans have the innate capacity not only to heal ourselves, but our world, from the debilitating effects of trauma.

Dr. Levine demonstrates how PTSD is created with his famous slinky metaphor, showing us how the energy created by the trauma is contained inside us, wreaking havoc on our nervous system. This creates what we’ve come to know as PTSD.

Find out more information about SE and healing from a variety of traumas from Beyond Trauma. Get your copy of Waking the Tiger or other works by Peter Levine, like Trauma-Proofing Your Kids, from Amazon.

ACE Study and Scores

The second link from SR’s blog that really touched and validated my experience was to the ACE Study. What I thought for 30+ years was just normal child rearing was, in fact, child abuse. It has been identified as such by more than one therapist in the past year, and this ACE Study confirms it as well. It explains why my experience with PTSD is chronic and complex.

ACE stands for The Adverse Childhood Experiences Study, conduced by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and Kaiser Permanente. It shows, among other things, how childhood abuse contributes (may be the sole cause of) social, emotional, and cognitive impairment; choosing an unhealthy lifestyle; disease, disability, and social problems; and even early death.

You can take a little test to discover your ACE score, to which many of their articles refer. The questions are as follows:

1. Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often…
   Swear at you, insult you, put you down, or humiliate you?
   or
   Act in a way that made you afraid that you might be physically hurt?
2. Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often…
   Push, grab, slap, or throw something at you?
   or
   Ever hit you so hard that you had marks or were injured?
3. Did an adult or person at least 5 years older than you ever…
   Touch or fondle you or have you touch their body in a sexual way?
   or
   Attempt or actually have oral, anal, or vaginal intercourse with you?
4. Did you often or very often feel that …
   No one in your family loved you or thought you were important or special?
   or
   Your family didn’t look out for each other, feel close to each other, or support each other?

They continue through ten questions from there.

They have many publications linked from their site, like “The ACE Study: Depression and Suicide” and “The Hidden Epidemic: The Impact of Early Life Trauma on Health and Disease.”

If you or someone you know experiences symptoms of PTSD, please research these things further and find the help you or they need.

What was done to us was not our fault; however, our healing is our responsibility.

May you find peace.

After reading this book, I truly know I’m not alone. The way I was treated after my rape by the police, my community, and my friends is, quite unfortunately, par for the course. In fact, some of the examples in this book show me just how much worse it could be. We live in a culture where rape victims are habitually not believed. Their rapists go on to rape rape rape some more. Police minimize the report, as the Dallas PD did with mine, treating the victim with indifference or, worse, blame and contempt. There were even cases where the women were charged with underage drinking or making a false police report because of the lack of physical evidence.

I applaud Jody for writing this book. It’s a brilliant piece of work that should be read by every person in America. It is imperative to realize just how prevalent rape is in this culture. We must, as a society, revoke rapists’ social license to operate and believe victims when they come forward. A woman is raped every 1-2 minutes in the USA, and few of them are believed. *We* perpetuate a society where women are not believed and rapists are protected by victim-blaming, making rape jokes, and minimizing assaults as “boys will be boys” or “he said she said” nonsense. “We weren’t there, how could we know what really happened?” “It’s probably just a case of love gone kapluey.” “She’s just hurt and lashing out.”

The myth that women often lie about rape has become so ingrained, the first thing anyone thinks is that she must be lying. The reality is false reports are between 2 and 8%.

Only 3% of rapists see even one day in jail.
Only 14% of cases ever go to trial.

Juries continue to release rapists based on “reasonable doubt,” which often is the rapists’ word that the encounter was consensual.

Read this disturbing book and face reality. Please. I understand all too well how horrific this all is, as I’ve lived it. Before I was raped, I never would’ve read this book because I didn’t want to face the reality of rape. It was too terrible to consider. Now, it’s my only reality.

Know that most rapes occur by people the victim knows. Over 85%.
Please. When you hear someone say they were raped, go against the cultural norm and believe them. Support them. Let’s turn this around.

Buy this book now and read it today.

View all my reviews

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 22.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

**NOT A PODCAST LISTENER? Join me next week for CHAPTER ONE of The Zombies of Mesmer published on this blog. Every friday thereafter a new installment will go live in the Victorian tradition of serializing novels. Just leaving a comment can win an author-signed copy of the sequel! See you there!

At least that’s what it feels like sometimes. Fortunately, the intense, romantic feelings are fleeting and sporadic. Sometimes, though, I’m distracted during a session by his smile or the way his lips move, wondering what they’d feel like against mine. When he gets up to check his phone, I find myself averting my eyes so as not to admire his form. Fortunately, those feelings are fleeting, too. I’m still unsure about sexuality and romance at this point in recovery, even if he wasn’t my therapist and monogamously married.

Romantic or sexual feelings towards one’s therapist are known as transference and erotic transference, respectively, and it’s quite common, especially for rape and incest survivors. Even feeling platonic love for one’s therapist, likening them to a parent, is a type of transference.

Mostly, I just feel gratitude and affection towards him. The little I know about him, for I pay him to talk about me, makes me want to know more. He’s a vegetarian and into alternative medicine, like me. He’s an environmentalist and into progressive politics, like me. He leans toward Eastern spiritual traditions, like me. (I get all these things from his bumper stickers, btw. ) He seems like an amazing person, and I’d like to spend more time with him and his wife. Coffee. Games. Hikes. Whatever. Just to have a friend. To be with people I trust. To start to rebuild community.

I intellectually recognize that these romantic and sexual and even friendly feelings are directed towards him because he’s safe. Because he’s the only other person on the face of the planet other than my husband and my best friend that I trust. He summed it up in one session: “It’s natural to want to be close to someone who feels safe.”

I’m stuck between the place of a natural tendency to make myself the most attractive possible for a potential partner, while being genuinely myself, and intellectually recognizing it’s transference. I used to talk with him about things without a second thought, like intimate details of my sexuality or past experiences, anxieties and such. Now I’m hyper-aware of everything I say because of my attraction. There is a disconnect between what I feel and what I intellectually know to be true.

It’s extremely important to talk to your therapist about transference, if you’re having those feelings. They are trained to deal with it professionally because it is such a common occurrence. It’s part of the therapeutic experience, especially in recovery from sexual assault and intimate partner violence. Talking about your feelings of transference is paramount to your healing, as they are likely demonstrating patterns and underlying issues that should be addressed in therapy.

If your therapist crosses that boundary and alters your interactions to include romance or sexuality, you must get away quickly. If they cross that line, they are not only betraying you and your trust, they are also betraying the ethical code of their profession and very likely their spouse/partner. No matter how much you think (and they will tell you) it’s because of how special or sexy or awesome or how deep and unique your connection is that caused them to breach that boundary, the reality is this: they are an unethical person with little-to-no integrity who would betray their profession’s ethical code, their client’s trust, and possibly their spouse. That is not someone you can trust, nor are they conducive to your healing.

The rules and guidelines behind “dual relationships” with psychologists, counselors, therapists, or psychiatrists are strict for a very good reason. Dual relationships are damaging to the client—any dual relationship, not just those in the realm of romance and sexuality. Friendships. Hiking partners. Poker buddy. RPG team. Plumber. Home improvement contractor. Yoga instructor. Any of these and more constitute a “dual relationship,” and they aren’t conducive to your healing or recovery. They are, at worst, severely damaging, for there cannot be a balanced relationship between you. You share intimate details of your heart, mind, and soul with your therapist, putting you in an extremely vulnerable position, where you know next to nothing about them in comparison.

One there therapeutic relationship ends, the accepted time period before establishing any social or professional relationship with your former therapist is two years. Some professionals say no other relationship for life.

You are in therapy for your healing, to get your needs met. They are not there to get their needs met. It’s not a two-way street, as my therapist says. You pay them to make it a one way street. They go to therapy to work out their issues. They have other relationships to meet their needs. This therapeutic relationship is about you and your healing, period.

If you therapist breaches that trust, that speaks to them not only as a professional but also as a person. As much as I, at times, want him to cross that boundary and kiss me or hug me or even just grab a cup of coffee together and let him talk about himself for a change, I know if he did that then he wouldn’t be the man I feel this affection for. It’s a very frustrating place to be.

For now, it’s wonderful to see him once a week for an hour or two. I have an intelligent, skilled, compassionate, understanding, accepting, handsome man who I pay to focus completely on me for our time together. That alone is healing. I feel seen. I feel heard. I feel cared for and respected. I feel accepted and validated. I feel love and desire, on and off, and it’s nice to know I still can.

I’m healing because of his empathy and skill, because of his compassion and presence…and because of the boundaries that are there to keep me safe. To keep everyone safe.

When I first admitted to having these feelings of transference, he handled it with perfect professionalism. Without hurting my feelings or mocking me or compounding the shame I already felt around it, he said that he would not cross that line. He said if he did cross that line because it would be severely damaging to me.

He didn’t say wanted to or didn’t want to.
He didn’t say he was attracted to me or not.
He didn’t say anything except: “If I did this, it would be extremely damaging to you.”

I broke down and cried.

He’s right. It would be. He would become yet another man who betrayed my trust, who got me to feel safe and loved, then exploited that situation for his own needs. For he would not only be violating his professional ethics, he would be deceiving his wife. That is not the man I am drawn to. Everything would crumble.

He also said that it was perfectly natural, especially in my healing, to want to be close to someone with whom I felt safe and who I could trust. As the only person on the planet, save my husband and my best friend, who I trust and feel safe with, it’s a pretty small circle right now, as he put it.

It’s perfectly natural.

He knows that. He also knows the power that gives him, and it speaks to his integrity that he chooses not to exploit that power. He said he knows he’s sitting there with a loaded gun, as a man in a position of power with a vulnerable woman before him. He could take advantage of my transference feelings, take advantage of my trust and vulnerability, take advantage of the entire situation, but he chooses not to use that power. That’s the difference between a man with integrity, like my therapist and my husband, and a man like The Rapist and predators like him, when he knows he holds that power and he uses it for his own momentary pleasure and his own selfish needs, exploiting the vulnerability and emotional distress of his prey.

There is also something called counter-transference, where the therapist develops feelings for the client. That is also natural. My therapist has not indicated whether or not he is experiencing counter-transference, and I don’t expect he will. As he has reminded me time and again, this therapeutic relationship is about my needs getting met, not his. If he is and if he says so in therapy, we would then discuss that professionally with those boundaries firmly in place. As in any relationship, I always encourage complete transparency. In this case, however, I trust that he wouldn’t even say as much, even if it were true, unless it would be beneficial to helping me heal.

Last year I had a therapist, the first of many I had after the rapes, humiliation, and discardment. He practices humanist psychology and is polyamorous. He was kind and compassionate. He was very loving. He helped me take the blinders off and see the underlying abuse and mind-fuck by The Rapist long before I accepted what happened as rape. My relationship with this first therapist was extremely helpful and healing, until it wasn’t. He didn’t hold those boundaries. In fact, he didn’t believe in “boundaries.” He thought they were too rigid. That just serves to demonstrate not only what kind of therapist he is, which isn’t a very good one, but also the kind of man his is: one without, or with very little, integrity.

We had a therapeutic relationship and a friendship growing at the same time. He talked about himself, too. He opened his home and office and community center to me as a safe haven, stating that The Rapist wasn’t welcome there as a client (he said he didn’t want The Rapist’s money) or as a poly community member. He created the only place in Austin I felt safe other than my own little room. I loved him like a father, also a form of transference. His community center became my second home, my office, and my safe haven, all of which he offered to me. I didn’t ask for any of those things.

Then, one day, about three months into therapy, he ripped it all away. Suddenly, The Rapist would be welcome if he showed up. The anxiety attacks started again, and I thought it was my “issues” causing them, but now I see it’s because I was yet again betrayed by someone who cultivated a relationship, got me to feel safe, then tore it away. Ironically, the exact same time period as the relationship with The Rapist.

So after establishing this dual relationship with me, by not holding the client-therapist boundary and pursuing a fuller relationship, he caused more damage. While it was satisfying and healing in the short term, when he reneged on his promises that The Rapist wasn’t welcome there, I felt betrayed. I felt exposed. I felt violated. Not only by my therapist, but by my friend. He ripped away the one place I felt safe outside of the little room I was renting at the time.

This secondary trauma set me back months in healing. The tertiary trauma would come when the entire poly community embraced The Rapist and called me a liar. Fuck Austin, as I’ve said before.

That first therapist didn’t hold those boundaries. He didn’t act with integrity. He crossed the line, established a secondary relationship, and then changed his mind about his promises, further damaging an already-traumatied client.

This is why those boundaries and rules are in place.

In a therapeutic relationship, it is the therapist’s responsibility to hold that boundary. As a client, you are there to be completely open, to talk about the most intimate and vulnerable details of your life, your past, your mind, your heart, and your soul. That, of course, is going to feel very intimate to the client who is sharing things they may not even share with their spouse.

As I’ve said countless times throughout this blog, I always advise total transparency in any relationship, and especially in romantic and sexual ones. I tell my husband everything, which is one of the reasons our foundation is utterly unshakable. It’s how we not only survived the last three horrific years, but how we’re stronger because of it. In times of trouble and fear, you turn into love, not away from it. Still, very few people, I’ve found, can be that transparent.

My current therapist holds those boundaries with graceful professionalism. Even though at times I wish with all my heart he wouldn’t, that he’d come close to me and breathe into my lips how much he can’t stay away from me a moment longer…I know if he didn’t hold that boundary it would not only be damaging to me and my healing, it would be damaging to him, his career, and his marriage. It’s a no-win situation no matter how attracted to him I might feel. I’m also intellectually aware, as is he, that this is part of the therapeutic experience. I feel drawn to him because I trust him, because I feel safe with him, because I have opened myself up with all the pain and trauma and shame and intensity screaming inside me, and he has held that space, accepted me without judgement. He has validated me, my feelings, my thoughts, and my experiences. He has helped me see the level of abuse I’ve endured throughout my life, not just in the last year in the aftermath of rape, but how that relationship was even possible because of ongoing abuse over a lifetime that has, for the purpose of survival, has altered my nervous system to the point where I don’t recognize early signs of danger. Even when the violence is occurring, whether sexualized violence or verbal or emotional, I freeze when instead of fighting or fleeing. I explain it away. I make it my fault, something I did wrong.

He explains my feelings and diffuses my shame with words of clarity and compassion and care, and it turns out I have a lot of shame. I’ve been shamed for feeling throughout my life, for just having emotions. For feeling insecure at times. For loving. I’ve been shamed for my sexuality. I’ve been shamed for saying no. I’ve been shamed for saying yes. I’ve been shamed for falling in love. I’ve been shamed for falling in love too fast or too deeply. I’ve been shamed for unrequited love.

He takes that shame away.

He said it is completely natural to want to be close to someone with whom you feel safe and who you trust.

It is completely natural.

Although I fantasize about severing the therapeutic relationship now and setting iCal to remind me in two years to call him up for coffee, then spend more time talking about him to balance the budding relationship, the reality is that he’s my therapist. He will always be my therapist. For someone who has had their sense of trust and boundaries so severely violated, a relationship with firm boundaries is exactly what I need, no matter how much my heart yearns for more at times. What that shows more than anything is that my ability to feel love, to trust, and to desire someone is not permanently damaged. From a position of safety, I can feel love again. I can feel desire again. I can ease back into exploring those options with new people, all from the safety of therapy.

May you find peace.

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 20 & 21.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

But I wasn’t there.

I watched this scene as if it was on TV or a huge cinema IMAX scene. It was somehow not real. It was somehow flat, 2D, yet 3D at the same time.

Depersonalization episodes have come and gone over the past year in dealing with rape acceptance and recovery, but no episode since accepting the rape had been as surreal as that one. It was part of my brain processing the trauma. I’m unable to put it into words–how I felt removed from the world, yet there I stood in it. It was one of the most bizarre moments in my life.

Fortunately for my good friend Google and one of the two rape recovery counselors I was seeing at the time, I identified it as depersonalization, a common symptom of PTSD or RTS (Rape Trauma Syndrome).

For those readers who have followed my blog throughout the past three years, you might remember a post called “Embracing Surrender & Finding Peace” that I wrote shortly after the rapes in early 2012. This was before I accepted what had happened as rape, still of the “He loves me so it couldn’t have been rape” mindset, even though my body and my subconscious mind was already dealing with the trauma. My day of “Enlightenment” was just that: a symptom of PTSD. The mind coping with the overwhelming trauma of rape, humiliation, and abandonment by a deeply trusted lover.

That “Enlightenment” was in actuality a dissociative state in which I was experiencing depersonalization. Far more intense and extensive than the one described above, that one lasted over 24 hours, but I wouldn’t recognize it for what it actually was for another half a year.

A little about dissociation from trauma and abuse from Wikipedia:

Dissociation is a term in psychology describing a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experiences. It is commonly displayed on a continuum.^[1] The major characteristic of all dissociative phenomena involves a detachment from reality – rather than a loss of reality as in psychosis.^[2][3][4][5] …

Dissociation has been described as one of a constellation of symptoms experienced by some victims of multiple forms of childhood trauma, including physical, psychological, and sexual abuse.^[26][27] This is supported by studies which suggest that dissociation is correlated with a history of trauma…^[28]

Adult dissociation when comorbid with a history of child abuse and otherwise interpersonal violence-related posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) has been shown to contribute to disturbances in parenting behavior, such as exposure of young children to violent media. Such behavior may contribute to cycles of familial violence and trauma.^[30]

Symptoms of dissociation resulting from trauma may include depersonalization, psychological numbing, disengagement, or amnesia regarding the events of the abuse. It has been hypothesized that dissociation may provide a temporarily effective defense mechanism in cases of severe trauma; however, in the long term, dissociation is associated with decreased psychological functioning and adjustment.^[27] Other symptoms sometimes found along with dissociation in victims of traumatic abuse (often referred to as “sequelae to abuse”) include anxiety, PTSD, low self-esteem, somatization, depression, chronic pain, interpersonal dysfunction, substance abuse, self-mutilation and suicidal ideation or actions.^[26][27][31] These symptoms may lead the victim to erroneously present the symptoms as the source of the problem.^[26]

Child abuse, especially chronic abuse starting at early ages, has been related to high levels of dissociative symptoms in a clinical sample,^[32] including amnesia for abuse memories.^[33] A non-clinical sample of adult women linked increased levels of dissociation to sexual abuse by a significantly older person prior to age 15,^[34] and dissociation has also been correlated with a history of childhood physical as well as sexual abuse.^[35] When sexual abuse is examined, the levels of dissociation were found to increase along with the severity of the abuse.^[36]

A 2012 review article supports the hypothesis that current or recent trauma may affect an individual’s assessment of the more distant past, changing the experience of the past and resulting in dissociative states.^[37]

As with language in all fields of study and human interaction, it fails us. Please don’t confuse a Dissociative Disorder or Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) with dissociative episodes due to PTSD. Totally different things. They are, like most things, part of a spectrum. Although DID is caused by severe trauma, a person can experience dissociative states or episodes in the aftermath of a trauma without fitting the criteria for a Dissociative Disorder and most certainly not DID.

Similarly, labels such as Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) carry such a horrific stigma that it’s difficult to even discuss that type of experience without serious prejudice. Interestingly, BPD and complex (or chronic) PTSD are virtually indistinguishable. Twenty years ago, BPD was more readily diagnosed than chronic (or complex) PTSD, erroneously so. Recently, psychologists are starting to understand the relationship between chronic abuse and adult psychological and behavioral problems. At a minimum, they are saying there is a frequent comorbidity between the two labels. Seeing as how I’ve been misdiagnosed and labeled with five different things than don’t explain or help my life experience, I don’t trust labels. For me, C-PTSD is the closest, the only one that explains all the symptoms.

Psychologists like to label people.

Fortunately, more than a few therapists I’ve seen in the past year are doing away with labels, as they serve to stigmatize much more than they serve to define and help in recovery.

If we, as a culture, can understand and empathize with people who suffer from PTSD, C-PTSD, and other abuse-caused conditions, perhaps there can be more healing for everyone involved instead of compounding the trauma by ostracism and ridicule. PTSD has been almost exclusively discussed as a phenomenon experienced by soldiers after enduring war, but it is far more ubiquitous across our society. Even our soldiers, however, experience ostracism and cruelty at the hands of their loved ones, friends, coworkers, and communities, as everyone expects them to just “get on with it,” to “let it go,” after the unimaginably horrific things they’ve seen and done.

Empathy, education, and understanding is called for with those suffering from PTSD, whether from war, from rape, from emotional abuse, or from another act of violence, otherwise, we contribute to their suffering by creating secondary trauma. Being raped by a trusted lover was, understandably, horrific. As horrific and traumatizing was not being believed by my community. By watching them embrace him and thereby shun me. By the police who minimized and normalized the experience. By “friends” who greatly distanced themselves because they didn’t know what to say.

Yes, indeed. As traumatizing.

My current therapist says that empathy requires someone to step into another person’s hell for a few minutes, and most people aren’t willing to do that. It calls up images of the film What Dreams May Come, brilliant film, where at the end, when the protagonist is trying to rescue his wife (who committed suicide) out of hell, has to choose between staying there with her and losing his mind or saving himself and going to heaven. He stays with her. Even though they would not even know each other were there, he stayed with her. In that act of sacrifice, that metaphor of empathy, they both were beamed to heaven. Instead of dismissing her or abandoning her, he stayed with her. He saw her. He heard her.

That was enough.

Remember that next time when someone is hurting, suffering because of another person’s cruelty. Hear them. See them. Empathize. You don’t have to fix anything. You don’t have to say the “right” thing that will make it all go away. Nothing will make it all go away. Ever.

But…being believed. being accepted. being heard. being together…means more than I can ever express. Just hear me. Just see me. Just be here for a moment in this space with me.

There is little more healing than that.

Thanks to the magnificent work of J. R. Fleming, cover artist for Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection and Christine and Ethan Rose’s 4th “Rowan” book Power of the Zephyr, Nickie Nick has a new look.

Additionally, the embarrassing number of typos and mistakes from the first printing have also been corrected. Although we unlikely got all of them, we never do, we did get most that slipped through the editing process the first time around.

And FINALLY….the big announcement….for those of you who haven’t been able to enjoy The Zombies of Mesmer via Fiction Podcast because you, like me, just don’t really listen to podcasts, starting in a few weeks, I’ll be serializing The Zombies of Mesmer right here on this blog, Victorian Style, in preparation for the its sequel to be released this summer. Each week a new chapter or segment will go live in place of the podcast. So, as soon as the podcast ends, look for The Zombies of Mesmer serialized in print with a new segment each Friday, starting May 17th!

There has never been a better time to get acquainted with Nickie Nick!

Available in paperback, on Kindle, podcasted, and (shortly) serialized right here.

-_Q

The best thing about Steampunk Music is that there’s more than one sound to it. It ranges from ethereal and gothic to erudite rap, encompassing all that is tribal, rock, pop, and parody. It’s such a lively and varied scene that it needs a festival to celebrate it all!

And that is why the Skybourne Areodrome wishes to bring you Skybourne Presents! Carnival Menagerie. The Sky Commodore has gathered thirteen bands and has procured all sorts of clowns and circus performers. The Carnival Menagerie will feature Steam Powered Giraffe, The Marquis of Vaudeville, Unwoman, Darwin Prophet, Spoon Fed Tribe, and many many others. Not to mention magicians and DJs. This Steampunk extravaganza will occur in Dallas in September. The dates are set, but the venue is not. The Sky Commodore has launched a Kickstarter in order to raise some funds for a large venue. Here is the link to that: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/991732307/skybourne-presents-a-carnival-menagerie

This will be huge. If he obtains a good-sized venue, it will be more huge. Even though there are thirteen bands already making the pilgrimage, there are dozens more entertainers in the Steampunk scene. It would be lovely if they could put in appearances as well, but first they need a stage to perform on. Thus the Kickstarter.

In addition, the Sky Commodore has a big goopy soft spot for children. If the Kickstarter surpasses the goal, a portion of the funds will be donated to the charities The Water and Kids Need To Read. One gives life, the other gives life adventure. There will also be ways to donate to these charities at the Carnival Menagerie itself. It will be an amazing event that will help change the world for the better. It’s hard to get better than that.

-_Q

Patricia Ash is the Associate Editor of Gearhearts Steampunk Glamor Revue and the Captain of Marketing for Skybourne. When she’s not writing or emailing someone, she’s playing with yarn, petting kitties, or strolling around a Sci Fi convention. Follow her misadventures on Facebook or https://twitter.com/thejoyofpash. She also has a brand new feature on gearheartsmag.com – every other week, she reviews Steampunk books.

Also, the book in which I contributed an article on Polyamory, A Steampunk’s Guide to Sex, won the award for best nonfiction!

See all the winners here!

Additionally, I’ve just had a short story passed on to the next round for Penumbra! I’ve never gotten this far with that publication before, so I’m über excited. I won’t find out if it made the final cut for months. Regardless of the outcome, I’m so proud to have gotten this far.

If you’ve yet to read these, you can find them and many other stories for your enjoyment, some for purchase & some for free, on my published works page. Please explore the links in the right sidebar to find out more about me and my work.

Peace.

-_Q

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 18 & 19.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

Since I’m really unable to write much about romance and relationships these days, I hope to be writing more regularly about recovery from and understanding abuse, especially the kinds of abuse that aren’t overt, as they can be even more damaging psychologically for that very reason.

Still, my most popular post is “PTSD from Emotional Abuse.” Understandably so. We’re a culture immersed in so many types of abuse, PTSD is truly an epidemic, I’ve learned. Doctors and psychologists are now starting to figure out the connection from childhood abuse to later psychological and behavioral issues. They’re understanding the cumulative effect of prolonged abuse, causing chronic PTSD.

I’m still in recovery from the rapes last year, and I’ve learned how The Rapist’s (aka Austin Poly Rapist, The Auctioneer) calculated manipulation and covert abuses throughout our short-lived relationship acted as a culmination of the two most recent sexual assaults/coercive rapes from 2010 and 2011, by The Writer and The Musician, respectively. Through extensive therapy over the past year, I’ve learned how even those assaults were made possible by earlier trauma that I didn’t even consider abuse. Just like the assaults by those three men, I didn’t call them what they were for a very long time. Too long. “Made possible” because I had been socialized to not see the warning signs, not to see abuse as abuse, but rather a symptom of desire or love, putting me in the same room with a rapist. The fault and responsibility of those actions, however, lie solely with those who chose to rape and/or commit sexual assault. The shame lies with them, as well.

Though my ramblings and blog posts, I’m hoping that my readers will find the words to define their experience so that they can begin healing long before I did. Already, countless readers have contacted me and shared their gratitude for my writing, if for no other reason than because they no longer felt so alone.

You are not alone.

Abuse in our culture is systematically normalized and minimized. The targets of this abuse are silenced and shamed. I’m working to turn that around, to put the shame where it belongs: on the abusers. On the predators. On the rapists. On those that perpetrate sexual, physical, and emotional assaults, especially when calculated and intentional.

Disgusting.

It is so possible to have been abused or even raped and not even know it on a conscious level. Denial is a powerful protector, in a way, but it ultimately creates the conditions to be further traumatized. The cumulative effect of decades of trauma can be quite debilitating, as I’ve discovered. I’ve spoken a bit before on The Betrayal Bond, and I’ll be looking more closely at this phenomenon as well as things like Gaslighting and other forms of covert or normalized abuse.

Throughout the posts over the last year, I’ve often said the phrase “before I realized it was rape,” or something similar. This is very difficult for people to accept if they haven’t experienced it or haven’t accepted their own traumatic event for what it was; however, it’s not only possible, it’s common. Even though I felt violated and betrayed, even though my body and subconscious mind was reacting to the trauma, I said this:

“It couldn’t have been rape because he loved me.”

Now I say this:

“He couldn’t have loved me because he raped me.”

Or maybe, in some circumstances, “He loved me AND he raped me.” Some people are just so damaged themselves, that they don’t know how to show love in another other way than through abuse. Others don’t know how to receive love in any other way than through abuse. This is where self-awareness comes into play. No matter how much you were hurt and what horrible things have been done to you, it is never okay to traumatize another person. It is never an excuse to traumatize another person. Never. Ever. (Hurt, in this context, is an understatement. Demolished. Devastated. Crushed. Ruined. Destroyed. Those are more accurate.)

Denial. Betrayal Bond. Then more denial.

As I move forward in my own recovery, learning to care for myself and my heart above all else, I’m able to write on these topics with less rage, which will likely be more pleasant to read. I’m not apologizing for my rage, as it was well justified and part of the healing process. My anger is still here, protecting me. For now. As a former therapist once told me, “Anger is the beginning of saying, ‘I deserve better.’”

I fucking do deserve better, and so do you.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be exploring symptoms of PTSD, types of trauma, and the brilliant minds who are figuring some of this out. I’ll discuss my recovery journey. Isolation and silence has done wonders for me, and continues to do so. If that’s what you need to heal, don’t listen to anyone tell you that it’s not. You’ll get back into society when and if you’re ready. In the mean time, heal.

I’ll talk more about creating beauty, revealing truth, and protecting oneself in sacred spaces. I look forward to sharing the sacred space I created with all of you.

May you find peace.

From the Amazon.com description:

The Steampunk and Horror genres are masterfully combined in the twelve stories contained within Bellows of the Bone Box. Each of the authors has transported you to an age where steam is the dominate means of power and has woven a tale that will fascinate, or possibly scandalize you. In this volume, you will find clockworks, pneumatic tubes, airships, and leather worn out of necessity – not vanity. Can an engine be powered by human blood; should it be? What about body modification; what happens when the mechanical meets the biological and goes awry? Does the heart rule the machine, or does the machine consume the humanity that once existed within it? What of airships, regeneration, or hallucination; is it safe to trifle with such things? Should technology that can rift time and dimensions be researched; and if that research proves fruitful, should it ever see the light of day? Packed full of intrigue, imagination, and horror, lovers of Steampunk will have a hard time deciding which of the twelve is their favorite!

Get your copy in paperback, on the Kindle (or for your Kindle app), or in various other eBook formats via Smashwords.

Great opening that sets the scene for a world you could only imagine, with airships, bloodletting devices, vampire detectors, and brothels, Avalon Revisited is an erotic alternate history that includes one very spoiled vampire prowling the dance halls of England, preying on the fine ladies of society.

The devil is in the details which in this case made the pacing at the beginning a bit slower than I expected, but once the mystery of murder was brought in and Arthur applied himself to seducing Avalon you appreciated the time spent learning about each character. I would have preferred a less spoiled version of the depraved and cavalier Arthur because at the beginning he came across like the brother he despised, and that made it hard to like him, which I suspect was quite intentional on the author’s part, and his behavior was very true to men of that time period. Eventually Arthur grows on you (it doesn’t take long) and as a reader of paranormal romance I found his transformation in the name of love to be well done, indeed. From about midway on events move rather quickly with a few surprises added to the mix, and although one twist was picked up on rather quickly, I thought the ending was just what I wanted.

I’ll definitely add Avalon Revamped to my reading list!

Thanks VampChix!

I’d love to hear what you think of Avalon Revisited readers. Get your very own copy of this Amazon Gothic Romance bestseller in paperback, on Kindle, or in various other eBook formats via the publisher.

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 16 & 17.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 15.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

What readers say (from Amazon.com reviews):

“The book snags you from the first page and keeps you riveted all the way through. And definitely left me wanting more at the end!” ~ Beth Case

“I loved reading Avalon Revisited. The adventure was entertaining and dark, while the interactions between characters was light hearted and “cheeky.” I loved how classy the sex scenes were. I wish more adult novels were like this one, where the sex isn’t so cheesy. All-in-all, a very fun read.” ~Mistress V

“First of all, I cannot Wait for the sequel! Avalon Revisited was my first “steampunk” book, but not my first vampire love story. It’s dark, gritty, gory, twisted, and delightful. I would recommend this to anyone who loves sexy horror books!” ~ Erin M

“It is fun, fresh, thrilling (in SO many ways…. ), and will keep you guessing at every turn. Miss Olivia is able to concoct an adventure like it’s going out of style. Her characters are honest, believable, and not without depth. I am anxiously awaiting more from this wonderful author!!” ~ Mathilde

“The novel offers many fabulously enjoyable elements: passion, mystery, atmosphere, romance and humor. I loved the tone and the steampunk ambience. Grey doesn’t lay it on too thickly like some authors; the steampunk elements serve the characters and plot. Great read!” ~Meredith Collins

Get your copy today either straight from the publisher or via Amazon for your Kindle (or Kindle app for your smart phone, tablet, or computer).

Please share with your networks.

-_Q

Read more reviews and more of my work, available online and in print.

Peace.

Peace.

-_Q

Hey Teenage Boys! Worried About Steubenville? Don’t Be!

So, how to not be Trent Mays and get locked up:

First, Trent Mays isn’t a good guy who gave in to temptation to get off.  What they did, over the course of a few hours, was a long series of doing stuff to that girl and then documenting it in pictures and video, not really for their own sexual satisfaction, but because they thought that humiliating her in sexual ways when she was too out of it to do anything about it was funny.  You can read more here.

Second, most rapes are not rapes committed by strangers.  Maybe 80% or 85% of rapes are by someone the victim knows.  Most of them don’t involve any actual force; they involve alcohol, and the victim is either passed out or too drunk to know what’s happening.  Sometimes other drugs are involved and sometimes the victim gets slipped a drug they didn’t mean to take, but mostly, the real “date rape drunk” is plain old alcohol.  Why?  Well, mostly because guys who rape girls who are drunk usually get away with it.  Her memory is usually impaired, prosecutors and juries look down on her for being drunk, and she may be too embarrassed to even tell anyone.  So guys who want to rape know what to look for.  And there are guys who like to rape.  In fact, most rapes are not about confusion or miscommunication, they are planned by a small percentage of guys who are complete dicks, and like to take advantage of drunk girls, by which I mean, to rape them.  You can read more here, here and here.

Okay, so are you ready for the foolproof plan not to get charged with rape?

READ MORE on YES MEANS YES

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Steubenville: Humiliation Was The Point of the Exercise

One thing we say sometimes, those of us who talk about Yes Means Yes, and enthusiastic consent or affirmative consent, is who wants to have sex with someone who isn’t enthusiastically participating?  The implied answer is, “nobody!”

But that’s not a complete answer.  The truth is that some people do want sex with someone who isn’t participating - who is actively resisting, or who is too out of it to respond.  And who those people are tell us a lot about rape and why it happens.  In particular, it tells us a lot about gang rape and why and how it happens.

I’ve been struck by the similarities between this case and both the Glen Ridge, New Jersey rape in 1989 and the Haidl case in Corona Del Mar, California in 2002.  All three produced convictions, all three involved high school boys, several of them and one female victim, and all three involved extremely privileged boys — in Steubenville and Glen Ridge, football players, and in Corona Del Mar, a really rich local politico’s kid.

One other thing they have in common:  nothing about them seemed like they were oriented around physical sexual stimulation for the boys.  The key, driving dynamic was a shared group experience of sexual humiliation of the girl.

READ MORE (warning: graphic details) on YES MEANS YES

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How Media Can Help Stop Rape

With the verdict in on the Steubenville rape, we are now confronted with yet another case involving two 13-year-old girls in Torrington, Conn., who say they were sexually assaulted by three young men. Presumably, the media will say these boys had a “bright future” ahead of them just as it said of the Steubenville boys. And just as in Steubenville, I expect the mainstream media to play the same game it always does—ignoring the victim and focusing entirely on how this will impact the lives of the rapists.

I think it’s time we talk about not just what went wrong, but what needs to happen differently from now on. What needs to happen to not only help survivors, but to prevent rape in the short-term. Starting yesterday.

The fourth branch of the government, aka the media, has a responsibility just as the other three branches to help put an end to the crime of rape. That they’re doing it wrong is evidenced by angry responses to CNN’s rapist-centric coverage of the Steubenville case.

Portraying the perpetrators as sympathetic characters and ignoring the survivor and what she went through is nothing new in the media (neither is having the media re-victimize the survivor). Blaming the victim is par for the course. In the media coverage of rape cases globally, there are the usual caveats of “Don’t get drunk or you’ll get raped.” But the cautionary message is even more insidious than it first appears. This sort of coverage also says to communities and families: “Please tell your kids not to commit rape because it will ruin their lives,” as opposed to “Stop rape from happening because it’s a terrible crime against a human being.”

…..

I realized the assumption that we can’t do something about rape in the short-term was incorrect when I got more vocal about how victim-blaming was wrong. A very close friend of mine called me one day after reading an article on rape I’d posted on Facebook. She told me she had been raped years ago. She cried on the phone; I consoled her. It was my first time finding out about a friend’s rape.

I figured it was just a freak accident, that my other friends were more careful and likely have avoided getting raped—that kind of thing. I was wrong. I got a message from another friend a few weeks later about her rape. Since then, every time I’ve written about rape, I’ve had more friends confess to me that they, too, have been raped.

In just over a year, I’ve lost count of how many people I know who’ve been raped or sexually assaulted. I’ve known these women for years, if not decades, but they only opened up to me after they realized that I would believe them. That I wouldn’t ostracize them. And, most important, that I won’t be blaming them for what happened. Some made a point of explaining to me that the only reason they were telling me was because they were comfortable, knowing they wouldn’t be judged and that I wouldn’t be sympathizing with the perpetrator.

READ MORE on WOMEN UNDER SEIGE

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A Woman Walks into a Rape, Uh, Bar

Let me tell you a thing you might not know: the inability to hear rape “jokes” without flashbacks, Hulk rage, and “air quotes” is one of the enduring parting gifts of a rapist.

Here is how this goes:

It is a lovely summer day. You have some beers, and you and some friends are sitting on a front porch in the breeze and the sun, shooting the shit. You start talking about politics, and then the Army. You mention that you have considered joining the Army in the past, but won’t, because you can’t pledge loyalty to an organization that discriminates against gays (a round of agreement ensues, so hugely moral are we), and as a woman, you can’t reasonably aspire to join an organization that is far more likely to brutally rape you (and brutally cover it up) than the general population.

One of your friends says, “But isn’t that actually a benefit of the Army? Hur hur hur.” Oh, how you wish your friend were an ardent feminist, so you could interpret his comment as a dry observation of the brutal truth, framed humorously to prevent suicide all around. But no, you know he is making a funnay, the punchline being you and every woman you know.

Several options flash through your head.

1. Say Nothing. Hope the conversation does not continue extolling the virtues of rape, making saying nothing harder. Hate yourself for saying nothing. Notice girl sitting on the porch of the house next to you who has heard what was said. Notice her similar reactions. Hate yourself more for saying nothing, because she has probably been raped, too, because you don’t know any woman who hasn’t. Hate your friend, because he doesn’t know that every woman he knows has been raped. Have minor flashbacks of what was done to you…

READ MORE on FUGITIVUS

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Eight reasons why victim-blaming needs to stop: Writers, activists, and survivors speak out

There are several excerpts from other blogs on this page, and it would behoove you to read all of them. Here’s one:

The accounts we receive on the Everyday Sexism Project website reveal how heartbreakingly prevalent victim-blaming is. A university student wrote that she receives regular faculty e-mails telling female students “not to go home alone in the darkness.” But “if you ask male students, they don’t even know about the problem…they come up with, ‘She wore a skirt, she asked for it.’”

Another young woman wrote: “I have friends who have been raped and not told anyone because they had passed out drunk and so felt it was there [sic] fault.” Yet another account reads: “I was raped at a party after being drugged… .When I had the courage to tell what happened I was blamed by everyone. I had to do a lot of tests, including HIV and no one supported me. My family and friends abandoned me saying it was all my fault because I acted like a whore.”

These stories go on and on: Strangers judge and blame; family members refuse to believe survivors; survivors blame themselves. This internalized finger-pointing is perhaps the hardest to hear about. In addition to everything else they must bear, victims are forced to carry the heavy burden of self-blame.

Often, they report that this prevents them from telling anybody about what has happened. Social misconceptions about rape and rapists also play a significant role.

One girl described being raped at 14. “Took me years to even label that a rape,” she said. “In my head, it was my fault. And everybody knows that rapists aren’t cute boys, they are shady men hiding in bushes, right?” Another woman reported being told by a nurse, as she had blood tests after being raped, to “be more careful next time.”

We’ve received hundreds of accounts. But almost none report justice, conviction, or even criticism of the perpetrator by the confidant the victim chose to tell.

READ MORE on WOMEN UNDER SEIGE

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Patriarchy Dominates Media’s Steubenville Coverage

Despite attempts by the football-proud community to cover up the story, a cell of the hacker collective Anonymous called “KnightSec” unleashed Operation Roll Red Roll, leaking a 12-minute video of the rapists and their friends laughing about their crime, even underscoring the fact that it was a rape as they drunkenly laughed about the unconscious teenager being unable to wake up despite a “wang in the butthole.” Before Anonymous seized the Twitter account of Michael Nodianos, the boy talking in the video, they took a screenshot of him commenting on a picture of the unconscious rape victim by saying, “Song of the night is definitely Rape Me by Nirvana.”

On March 12, in the midst of the trial, Good Morning America ran a segment called “Steubenville Rape Case: What You Haven’t Heard” that focused entirely on the perspective of the rapists, coming from a storied high school football team, who just happened to rape someone after partying too hard. Their only passing mentions of the victim were intertwined with either how much she was coming on to her rapist at the first party, or how drunk she was as the night went on, and even how gentlemanly her rapist had been when he chivalrously gave his rape victim his coat so she wouldn’t get cold. From the story:

“Several witnesses said that once outside, the girl needed to stop in the street because she was sick again. “She throws up on her blouse and takes her blouse off,” Ma’lik said. “And then she asked for something to drink and I gave her my jacket to cover her up.”

The Good Morning America story capped their account of the lovable, complex, human rapists with a lamenting sentence about how a conviction would ensure “almost certain demise of their dreams of playing football.”

And of course, after the verdict was read, CNN infamously framed their sensationalized coverage with video of the teen rapists crying as they apologized for their crimes, and commentary from two talking heads about how the boys’ lives will never be the same, and how they’ll have the albatross of being labeled as a sex offender for the rest of their lives. CNN pundits had nothing to offer on how being gang-raped while unconscious will undoubtedly scar the 16-year-old victim for life, or how nights like that Aug. 11 in Steubenville happen every day across America, to high school girls, college girls, and adult women alike. The entire sad story of Steubenville reeks of patriarchal culture.

READ MORE on HUFF POST MEDIA

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The Day I Taught Not To Rape

“Ms. Norman” another kid called, “Have you heard about that rape case in Ohio? Those guys got convicted. They have to go to jail. They are going to lose their scholarships. They were going to D-1 schools!”

“Well…”I responded, feeling the heat crawl up my neck, “maybe they are going to jail for rape because THEY ARE RAPISTS!” I yelled those last three words at my kids and watched as some of them blinked in surprise. Apparently, the thought had never occurred to them that these athletes who were convicted of rape, were in fact rapists.

It is a strange thing about looking into the face of a 15-year-old, to really see who they are. You still see the small child that their mother sees. You see the man or woman they will be before they graduate. They are babies whose innocence you want desperately to protect. They are old enough to know better, even if no one has taught them.

I realized then that some of my kids were genuinely confused. “How can she be raped?” they asked, “She wasn’t awake to say no.” These words out of a full fledged adult would have made me furious. I did get a good few minutes in response on victim blaming and why it is so terrible. But out of the face of a kid who still has baby fat, those words just made me sick. My students are still young enough, that mostly they just spout what they have learned, and they have learned that absent a no, the yes is implied.

It is uncomfortable to think that some of the students you still call babies have the potential to be rapists. It is sickening, it is terrifying, but it is true.  It is a reality we have to face. My students have lived in a world for fifteen years where the joke “she probably wanted it” isn’t really a joke, they need to unlearn some lessons that no one will admit to teaching them.

Standing in front of my classroom and stating that a woman’s clothing choice is never permission to rape her should not be a radical act. But only a few heads nodded in agreement. Most were stunned, like this was a completely new thought. The follow up questions were terrifying in their earnestness. “Ms. Norman, you mean a woman walking down the street naked is not her inviting sex? How will I know she wants to have sex?”  A surprisingly bold voice came out of a girl in the back “You’ll know when she says, you want to have sex?!”

If you want to keep teens from being rapists, you can no longer assume that they know how. You HAVE to talk about it. There is no longer a choice. It is no longer enough to talk to our kids about the mechanics of sex, it probably never was. We have to talk about consent, what it means, and how you are sure you have it. We have to teach clearly and boldly that consent is (in the words of Dianna E. Anderson) an enthusiastic, unequivocal YES!

READ MORE on ACCIDENTAL DEVOTIONAL

From their Kickstarter description: “Twisted Skies is a fun and exciting card game set in a Steampunk Multiverse.

This project has been a labor of love for multiple Steampunk gamers! The desire for a fun Steampunk themed card game based around the imaginative ideas and concepts of the Steampunk Multiverse! After extensive design and play-testing we are excited to have the support of the nationally recognized Airship Isabella for this project and have based our first exciting set around their characters and adventures! The game is designed for 4-6 players played in a round the table fashion. An average game of Twisted Skies takes an hour and a half. Each basic set of Twisted Skies includes:

160 game cards, Full Instructions, One 6 sided dice.

As the design, artwork, and layout of the game is accomplished this Kickstarter is designed in the hope of having the product printed, boxed and made available to the gaming public at large. Professional grade photography and illustration from some of Steampunk’s most talented rising stars have made for a great looking game. Working with local game stores and distributors we’ll be placing this product in your friendly neighborhood game store!”

They’ve got GREAT rewards like ASI promo cards and posters, copies of the card game, ASI graphic novels, and MORE! Check out their cool videos and graphics explaining more about the game.

TWISTED SKIES — Pledge Today! 

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 13 & 14.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

They’ll have that affair and betray their wives/husbands/partners/children/families, as long as they can get off. Have an orgasm. Penetrate or be penetrated for a few minutes.

How horrific, petty, and disgusting. Not sexual desire, although that, too, no longer holds much interest for me, but the fact that sexual desire is placed above so many other things in life.

I say most people, and I suppose that’s an overstatement. It’s been my experience with most people I’ve encountered. After all, 80% of married couples are unfaithful at one point or another. So very few people have the courage to be genuine or the integrity to be honest, even of it isn’t sexual deviancy and deception at the core.

I’ve written several short stories over the past few years, and a few novels, too. All of them, I find, have a similar theme, and it wasn’t intentional. It’s what comes through my subconscious in the writing. One of my rape counselors, the only one of three, I’m proud to say, that I’m still seeing, read a short story I wrote two years ago, shortly after the first sexual assault by a supposed friend and collegue. That was the assault that opened the door for the next two. For as I’ve learned through extensive research into rape, Rape Trauma Syndrome, and rape recovery by reading countless articles about and accounts of rape over the past year, that once a person is victimized through sexualized aggression and/or sexual violence, the chance of being victimized again doubles, then triples. Part of the reason for this is the mind/body’s confusion of what happened, especially (as is the case 85% of the time) if it’s perpetrated by someone the victim knows and trusts. It’s the cognitive dissonance between friend and rapist, lover and rapist. Our mind tries to disprove that was what happened. Our trust is skewed. Our view of love and affection has been altered. Our boundaries, shattered, making it that much easier for the next predator to worm his way in.

Regardless, I digress. Imagine that.

So, my rape therapist read “The Final Word” after it was published by The Rusty Nail, and he saw something in that story that I didn’t consciously put in there, but it’s been a running theme in my life since that first assault through the other two: ignoring one’s own warning signs/red flags, dismissing them as one’s own emotional “issues” and “overreaction,” often supported by societal beliefs and manipulation by one’s abuser/perpetrator (gaslighting), only to painfully (or fatally) discover there was a very valid reason to be frightened and self-protective.

After the struggle to regain who I am outside of the trauma experienced, as well as the struggle to maintain my career and writing output during a time I was barely functional, I’ve come out on the other side feeling isolated and alone, largely because I isolate myself for safety. My trust in people is completely gone, and whenever I have tried to dip that proverbial toe back into the water of society, I’m quickly reminded of why I isolate myself. I trust again, and I’m betrayed again. At least I’m noticing the pattern sooner rather than later.

Another running theme in much of my work is the ultimate relief that only death can bring as well as the cowardice and treachery of humankind, especially men, since that has been the bulk of my personal experience (not to say I haven’t felt betrayed by women. I have, incredibly so, mostly in the aftermath of the rapes last year. Those who spoke out publicly against me the loudest were women). Since the beginning of 2013, I’ve been relatively quiet on this blog. Much of my focus was still on rape recovery and rape in the news, and I was quite fatigued talking about it, but not quite able to talk about much else. To focus on other “happy” or “positive” things felt like a lie, felt deceptive, so I just didn’t write much on here at all.

Instead, I wrote a novel and three short stories.

Some days, the harshest realization is that I very likely still have about 45 years in this life, and I feel as if my life has lost all meaning and purpose. I have endless hours to fill in isolation from everyone except my amazing husband, my dog, and my cat. The only other human being I talk to face-to-face is my therapist, who is also awesome and supportive, kind and compassionate.

I’ve been culling connections on social networks, cutting anyone who even breathes in a misogynistic and/or victim-blaming way. Anyone who is insensitive or lewd. My self protection level is at an all-time high.

A few weekends ago, I ventured out once to meet an online friend for coffee, dipping that toe in the water of socialization, not even a date, just a friendly meeting with another human being. Baby steps and all. This person turned out to be a registered sex offender and a rapist by his own admission of actions. He told me that although he wasn’t picturing having sex with me yet, he probably would be in the near future. Later that week, another man, who found my escape-artist dog, turned my gratitude for a good deed into sexualized debt, propositioning me to show my thanks. The very same day, I heard from three people in Austin**: the first, a member of the dance & poly community that embraced my rapist and shunned me; the second, a man I briefly dated after the rapes (who threw me over because I was “too insecure” even though I was “nonjudgmental” about his “taboo kinks” like fucking animals and relatives — remember what I said about fucked up boundaries after sexualized violence? Prime example), thankfully, we were never sexually intimate; and a third, who I didn’t remember nor did he remember me after we supposedly met on OKCupid last year, contacted me to see if I wanted to get together again (just in case).

So, yes, back into isolation.

My career has suffered during this time of assault and recovery. The world and publishing and Steampunk has all continued on without me while I dealt with and healed from these violations. The Steampunk community, too, embraces the one who violated me, as he was able to continue with his career, not being traumatized…

Again, I digress.

My point is…what’s the point? I’m here for another 45 years, give or take, unless I’m really lucky, so what am I to do with all that time? I don’t have kids. I don’t trust people. I’m afraid of everyone because of what was done to me. I see the inherent problems in the legal and law enforcement around rape and sexualized aggression, how 97% of rapists walk free and everyone from community to friends to family to the law blames the victim.

I don’t know how not to be victimized again–how to trust again–other than staying away from everyone, so that’s what I’ll do for now.

Although I love to hear when people respond to my articles or stories, and I cherish every one of those comments,  it’s become clear how few supporters I really have after years of writing and eight books, so I write because it’s cathartic. I write and paint and crochet because when I create beauty in any form, it passes the endless hours of every day until I can be unconscious again for another eight to ten hours…only to start all over again. I play with my dog. I listen to Beethoven Radio on Pandora and drink a frothy mocha alone. I run alone. I’m learning about gardening so I can create more beauty in my safe haven in the mountains of Northern California. I write and share articles about rape and consent and rape culture. I talk to those who want to talk to me, ones who can be respectful and supportive and genuine. I help others feel less alone, and then I feel less alone, too.

In the evenings, I get to cuddle up with my husband, my dog, and my cat and watch Monk or some other show until we all fall asleep.

Safety.

I’m so tired of talking about rape and rape culture, but I’ll keep talking about it and other important issues as it moves me. If you’re ready to hear it, you’ll listen and join in the conversation. If you’re not, you won’t. Hopefully you’ll never know what it’s like to be compelled to talk and read and examine rape and rape culture just to cope and understand why someone you loved raped you, why your community and friends turned from you and embraced him.

I truly hope you’ll never know what it’s like to be so traumatically betrayed by your lover and your community. I truly, truly hope…

I’ll keep writing, and I hope you’ll keep reading and commenting, for I do love your feedback, but I’ll write regardless of whether it’s published or not. Whether people read it or not. Whether readers comment or not. I’ll write and create to pass the hours, as it proves temporary relief from the human condition until I’m finally graced with the ultimate relief in another 45 years, give or take.

My life has no purpose but the one I create, and I choose to spend the time I have in this life creating beauty and revealing truth to those ready to hear it.

May you find peace.

-_Q

**To the Austin Poly, Burner, and ecstatic Dance Communities: FUCK OFF.
Seriously. I don’t want to know any of you unless you were one of my FEW supporters either privately or publicly. They know who they are. The rest of you, unless you begin your correspondence with an acknowledgment and a profuse apology for the additional trauma you caused me by embracing my rapist, making excuses for him, allowing him in your community/home/parties/office, or just not saying anything at all, fuck off. Just block me. Leave me alone. I don’t want to know you. I mean it. FUCK OFF.

Yes, I’m angry and hurt which is alienating people from those Austin communities. It’s alienating misogynists and rape apologists. It’s alienating people who think they’re good, kind, compassionate people who are really misogynists, predators, and/or rape apologists.

That’s the fucking point.

Get a personalized short story written by ME, a Steamku (Steampunk Haiku), compilation CDs of your favorite Steampunk musicians, signed posters and prints, VIP services and entries to the best Steampunk parties on the planet, a Steampunk iPod Stereo–custom made for you, a themed photo shoot just for you, personalized short story by Krista Cagg, or your very own private party!

Those are just a few awards waiting for you in exchange for your donation to The Artifice Club Kickstarter. In addition to all those cool things, you get the added benefit of helping an awesome community who’s main mission is to support artists, build community, and have a rip-roaring great time doing it.

Only 10 days remaining, so donate today! Head over there now to watch their great video explaining exactly what they’re doing and why. Meet the fabulous people involved and help these great personalities create a non-profit that benefits artists and patrons, alike!

Even a few dollars helps. Seriously. No amount is too small. Share and spread the word throughout your social networks! Support great artists and great people.

Thank you. -_Q

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 11 & 12.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

With just a few simple clicks, you can vote for all your favorites this year from best fiction to best maker to most influential Steampunk!

My short story “A Kiss in the Rain” is up for Best Short Fiction, and I would greatly appreciate your vote! Haven’t read it yet? For just $0.99, you can get it directly on your Kindle and support the artist and publisher, or read it FREE on SNM Horror Mag.

Additionally, I’m up for Best Steampunk Pinup Girl towards the bottom of the voting form for the cover of Gearhearts Steampunk Glamour Revue #3, pictured right. I’d be ever so grateful for your vote in both categories.

There are many more categories in which to vote, however. Here are my recommendations for some of them, in order of appearance on their site.

• Album of the Year: “The 2 Cent Show” by Steam Powered Giraffe
• Best Band: Steam Powered Giraffe or Eli August and the Abandoned Buildings
• Best Character/Persona: Rabbit from Steam Powered Giraffe
• Best Group Performance, non-musical: Mr. Saturday and Sixpence
• Best Music Video: “Honeybee” by Steam Powered Giraffe 
• Best Nonfiction: A Steampunk’s Guide to Sex (including my polyamory article!)
• Best Personality: ****Doctor Q****
• Best Short Story: ****“A Kiss in the Rain”****
• Best Web Series: ****The Vagabonds — OR — The League of S.T.E.A.M.****
• Best Goggles: Captain Cedric Whittaker of ASI
• Best Maker Group: Airship Isabella (ASI)
• Most Influential or Inspirational: ****The Artifice Club****
• Best Politically-Minded Steampunk: Margaret Killjoy
• Steampunk Pinup Girl: ****O. M. Grey for the Gearhearts #3 Cover****

You must register and be signed in to vote, a necessity to deter multiple voting and spam, I’m afraid. Voting is open for just a few more weeks, so please go vote today!!

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 10.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

From the Amazon.com description:

The first complete guide to pregnancy in polyamorous relationships, Polyamory and Pregnancy covers every step of welcoming a new life into your polycule. Whether you are planning ahead for future children or are on your way to the baby shower, you will find something here to help on your journey: Unexpected pregnancies Planning for pregnancy Important decisions during and after pregnancy Poly-friendly prenatal care Birth certificates and paternity Custody and co-parenting And more…

Excerpt:

My friend Lauren had a difficult pregnancy. It was made worse by the fact that during the pregnancy there was significant drama in her relationship. She and her metamour were not getting along at all, and the way her husband handled things didn’t help.

Lauren’s water broke nearly two months early, but she didn’t go into labor. Her doctor made her go into the hospital until the baby came.They put her on bed rest and antibiotics, and did everything they could to delay the birth. Every additional day made it more likely that Lauren’s child would survive. When she went into the hospital none of the drama, none of the problems mattered. For two weeks her husband, her metamour, and/or her metamour’s partner stayed by her bed around the clock. One of them spent every night with her. One of them was there every day. They pitched in to take care of each other’s children, to juggle the housework, and to share vehicles so everyone could get to work and  wherever anyone needed to be. They were lucky that their work schedules made it possible; not every polyamorous relationship has that option. But it would never have been possible
for a monogamous couple.

The night Lauren went into labor, her metamour was there with her. The doctors decided they had to do an emergency C-section because Lauren had developed an infection in her uterus. Lauren’s metamour called her husband while she was being prepped for surgery. The doctor said that if her husband was not there before they started the incision, the operating room doors would be locked and he would not be able to be with her during the birth. The metamour’s partner drove Lauren’s husband to the hospital, breaking several speed limits on the way. In the meantime Lauren’s metamour got suited up in scrubs and a mask, because Lauren said that if her husband couldn’t be there, she wanted her metamour to be. Her husband got there with less than a minute to spare; the metamour had been walking into the operating room because they were about to lock the doors. It was probably a fairly comical scene in the maternity ward hallway, with the metamour stripping out of the scrubs and mask and shoving them on Lauren’s husband to push him through the doors into the OR.

During Lauren’s recovery, and the month her baby spent in the neonatal unit, the polycule continued to work together. I wish I could say that the experience healed the problems between them – it didn’t. But it brought them closer together, and brought Lauren and her husband through a difficult situation with more love and support than they ever hoped for. For Lauren’s metamour, the experience includes some of her fondest memories of the relationship. And while they eventually went their separate ways, that little girl still holds an important place in all of their hearts.

Pray God no one in your polycule needs to go through what Lauren did. And I sincerely hope that your relationships are healthier than the situation she was in at the time. But as difficult as it was, and however much I’m sure Lauren never wants to go through anything like it again, the story also illustrates one of the great strengths of a polyamorous relationship: knowing that the flexibility and support your polycule can provide will be there for you throughout the pregnancy. Whatever happens and whatever your relationship to the pregnancy, the support and love around you can make this an experience to be treasured.

Order your copy on Amazon.com today in either paperback or on the Kindle.

They’ve a cover matching game and questions from participating authors designed to let the reader learn more about the author, their websites, and their books.

Today, if you answer my question (#8) over at Romance Reviews, you could win a free copy of Avalon Revisited (eBook from Riverdale Ave Books).

GO PLAY NOW!

-_Q

Additionally, I was thrilled a few days back when someone tweeted a new review for “A Kiss in the Rain”!!! The review is by Tracy Riva, and you can read it in full over at her blog.

Here is an excerpt:

What I really liked about this short story was it took a very new angle on erotic romances. It was something which I had never read before, and while I was thrilled with the outcome for the protagonist of the story, I actually felt a little sorrow for the other characters in the book.

I would recommend A Kiss in the Rain for its eroticism, its highly unusual story, its passion.

Read “A Kiss in the Rain” for just $0.99 on your Kindle or Kindle app (available for smart phones & computers).

-_Q

Other titles available from Amazon:

• “For the Love of a Book” in the We Love NY Anthology
• The Zombies of Mesmer Steampunk Paranormal Teen Romance
• “Of Aether and Aeon” Steampunk romance short story
• Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection of short stories, poetry, and essays

Find links to all my work on my Amazon Author Page, plus additional ones, some for free, under “Published Works” right here on this blog.

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 9.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

That’s what I think of Darker Still: A Novel of Magic Most Foul

I first started reading Ms. Hieber’s work when my agent introduced me to the author. We hit it off immediately, and have stayed in touch through the years. I adored her first two books, The Strangely Beautiful Tale of Miss Percy Parker and The Darkly Luminous Fight for Persephone Parker. Although life happened and I never got a chance to read the third in that series, I plan to as soon as I’ve had my fill of the Magic Most Foul series. After all, there is only so many hours in a day!

Rather late to the game for this book, I’m pleased overall because now I don’t have to wait for the sequels! I’m reading The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart: A Novel of Magic Most Foul right now, and I’m loving every word of it. In fact, I had started reading that one first. I loved it so much, that I didn’t get must past the first chapter before I simply had to start with the first book. Hieber does an amazing job of making Twisted Tragedy stand alone, but I wanted the full experience, and I’m so glad I went back to read Darker Still first!

From the Amazon description:

I was obssessed.

It was as if he called to me, demanding I reach out and touch the brushstrokes of color swirled onto the canvas. It was the most exquisite portrait I’d ever seen—everything about Lord Denbury was unbelievable…utterly breathtaking and eerily lifelike.

There was a reason for that. Because despite what everyone said, Denbury never had committed suicide. He was alive. Trapped within his golden frame.

I’ve crossed over into his world within the painting, and I’ve seen what dreams haunt him. They haunt me too. He and I are inextricably linked—bound together to watch the darkness seeping through the gas-lit cobblestone strets of Manhattan. And unless I can free him soon, things will only get Darker Still.

One of the many things I love about Hieber’s work is her ability to be deliciously Gothic without going so dark it turns off readers, like I’m afraid I do at times. Her tale is full of Gothic romance, tragedy, evil, and magic most foul! Told expertly in the style of diary entries, I loved how at times Natalie was interrupted and had to return later to tell her diary what was happening. I could picture her sitting at her desk with the gaslamp trimmed low, scribbling down every detail of her budding romance with the mysterious man in the painting. Darker Still is an homage not only to Victorian literature, but also to Oscar Wilde, Poe, Shakespeare, and even J. K. Rowling. I was quite tickled to see that the author even wrote a note to Mr. Wilde in the afterward.

Miss Natalie Stewart is the mute daughter of a man who works at New York City’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. When a strange and captivating painting comes into town, an eccentric spiritualist with a gift for reading thoughts and all things supernatural enlists her and her father’s help in procuring the painting for the Met. There’s something very odd and magical about the painting of Lord Jonathan Denbury of Greenwich. As soon as Natalie sees his likeness, she becomes obsessed with it. After tumbling into the painting and meeting the man in his canvassed prison, she discovers his soul has been split from his body (which is possessed by the foul demon who did such a dreadful thing), and he needs her help to escape. She also finds she can speak when inside the painting. She, along with the help of the spiritualist Mrs. Northe, embarks on a grand and dangerous plan to free the handsome Lord and help him reclaim his body from the demon.

With the special magic that comes from a mother’s sacrifice and splitting of souls, along with the grace of Victoriana and the mystery of Dorian Gray, Hieber has written a beautiful, dark love story between two young people thrown into a world of magic most foul.

I give this book a full FIVE COGS!

Buy your copy of Darker Still: A novel of Magic Most Foul and get to reading. Next week, I should have the review for The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart up, so you’ll be ready to get that one as well.

Even more exciting, Ms. Hieber is serializing the third book in the series over on her website, starting TODAY! True to the style of the age of which she writes, the serialization of The Double Life of Incorporate Things: A Novel of Magic Most Foul begins with its first installment TODAY: 3/5/13….and, it’s free! Check it out>>>

Buy the Darker Still paperback on Amazon or get it for the Kindle, just $2.99! Get to reading! You’ve got a lot of catching up to do, but it won’t take you long. You’ll rip through these wonderful tales as quickly as I did.

“Hieber applies some real imagination to the story. Her depiction of the dark magic involved and of the demon’s murderous activities adds some good suspense . . . a good romp.” – Kirkus Reviews

“”Darker Still was delightfully strange and charming. The book absorbed me within its first couple of pages. . . . This novel is chock-full of mystery, suspense and a most magical romance! I absolutely loved it and I absolutely recommend it.”–Kristin Feliz, Growing Up YA” – Growing Up YA

“”I highly recommend this book! It was just the right mix of paranormal and romance and I hope you all like it as much as I did!”–Sara Teitelman, Catching Books” – Catching Books

“”Darker Still screamed eerie, spooky suspense from the first page and its claws dug into me and didn’t let go. . . a masterpiece-twisted, dark, and chillingly possessive. . . I highly recommend Darker Still as a must read.”–Debbie Wentlein, I Heart YA Books” – I Heart YA Books

Log in with Facebook or create an account to participate in such fun things as cover matching games, multiple choice queries, and more!

Look for my multiple choice question on March 12th for a chance to win an Avalon Revisited eBook, plus many, many more free eBooks!!

In the mean time, I’m working hard on the revisions for Avalon Revamped. I’ll have them to my agent by the end of the month!

Follow Nicole Knickerbocker Hawthorn (Nickie Nick) as she discovers her destiny as The Protector, a powerful vampire hunter. Ashe, a dark and mysterious stranger, helps Nickie and her friends solve the mystery behind several bizarre disappearances. Suitable for teens, enjoyed by adults, the story is full of interesting steampunk gadgets, mad scientists, bloodthirsty vampires, and mesmerized zombies. This paranormal adventure is sure to appeal to fans of Boneshaker, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Vampire Diaries.

The Zombies of Mesmer is a Gothic Young Adult Paranormal Romance novel set in Victorian London.
Appropriate for teens.

The Zombies of Mesmer – Chapter 8.

Buy your copy of The Zombies of Mesmer via Amazon or Barnes & Noble in paperback, and it’s also available in digital format exclusively for the Kindle at Amazon.com (Kindle Select – Free for PRIME MEMBERS).

Also available: Author-Signed through the publisher.

-_Q

Fiction Podcast
Including short fiction and poetry, and The Zombies of Mesmer
Subscribe in a reader …. or in iTunes

Daphne was in deeply love, but her lover was just very good at pretending to be, which afforded him the opportunity to delight in her utter destruction, piece by piece. Heart, mind, body, and soul. Then, discarded her.

After a long, painful time of putting herself back together, piece by piece, she realized she was lucky to have gotten away at all. The road to healing was arduous, and she will never be the same again. Never trusting. Never loving. Never again believing. Never again whole.

Forever altered. Forever scarred.

But she survived.

One day she hears of the gruesome death of the man who violated and exploited her so very cruelly. With a single rose, she visits his grave…and dances on it.

“Danser Sur Ta Tombe” is an original acrylic painting/mixed media creation by my alter ego Christine Rose. Her hands and the rose is sculpted with paperclay. Handmade, recycled paper gives texture to the background and makes the tombstone. Lace brings this poor girl’s skirt to life. Fun applications of modeling clay creates even more texture, contributing to the 3D effect of the piece. Final touch: paper from floral wire provides that intricate little rose a stem.

This is the first in a series of paintings and sculptures featuring “Daphne.”

Original Painting for sale on Etsy. Please share with your networks, friends, and family.

All three books are illustrated by Zdenko Basic, and Manuel Sumberac co-illustrated POE and FRANKENSTEIN. The illustrations are beyond breathtaking, digital creations of mixed media. I highly recommend each of these for the Steampunk aficionado or literary collector. All of these books would make a great addition to any library or coffee table. Certainly conversation starters if nothing else.

STEAMPUNK POE

I adore Poe. No secret there. “The Tell-Tale Heart” is my favorite short story. EVER. (Except for maybe Vonnegut’s “Harrison Bergeron.” It’s a toss-up.) The book also contains “The Masque of the Red Death,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” and the less-known “The Ballon-Hoax,” “The Spectacles,” and “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether.” Although it doesn’t contain my favorite Poe poem, “Annabel Lee,” it does have the famous “The Raven,” as well as “To Helen,” “The City in the Sea,” “A Dream Within a Dream,” “The Conqueror Worm,” and the delightful “The Bells.”

It starts with an Introduction of Poe’s life and works, briefly covering the author’s tragic life full of pain, mystery, and death. As you turn each page to read this morbid master’s work once again, your eyes will be filled with industrial illustrations of a deliciously dark Steampunk world.

Get your copy from Amazon. You won’t be disappointed.

STEAMPUNK H. G. WELLS

Along with Jules Verne, H. G. Wells is considered the grandfather of Steampunk. Again, photographs digitally combined, then enhanced with original art, illustrate this beautiful book. The tome contains two novels, The Time Machine and War of the Worlds, and one short story, “The Country of the Blind.”

The illustrations of the alien invasion are especially impressive. Huge alien walkers over London, airships and trains near Big Ben, and images of destruction from afar truly bring the story to life.

Similarly, the depictions of scenes from the other two tales give the reader a new spin on these classic tales.

Get your copy from Amazon today!

STEAMPUNK FRANKENSTEIN

From the glorious cover through the entire hardback tome, the story that defined the Mad Scientist trope is beautifully illustrated, although my own dark passenger was quite disappointed to see that there wasn’t a grotesque depiction of sewing the monster together. The monster itself was a little disappointing, just looking like a giant man with goggles rather than pieces of several corpses sewn together and brought back to life. Even so, the images, just as in the other two books, are tiny mixed media masterpieces.

One image of Doctor Frankenstein looks so much like Doctor Horrible, I had to do a double take. If I didn’t know better, I would say Neil Patrick Harris posed for the picture.

Waiting for you on Amazon.com!

These would make great gift for the Steampunk you love. I give them five cogs.

Christina Smith

Congratulations, Christina! Email me to get your free PDF.

The publisher of We Love NY, Riverdale Ave Books, has just listed another giveaway for this title on Goodreads. Easy entry on Goodreads, so please do so and tell your friends! Add it to your “to read” list and spread the word of this anthology benefitting an important cause.

For just $6.99, you can buy a copy of the anthology on Amazon, knowing that the proceeds are going to help those in need while you read the love stories within, including my “For the Love of a Book.”

Peace.

You think I’m kidding, don’t you.

A fellow survivor and friend pointed this out to me this week, and I was utterly astounded. Truly, I don’t know why I’m surprised at any of this anymore. Now, in the above clip, the woman is cut off.

I wish I could say I understood what she was saying…

I wish I could say that she was expressing that there are a lot of rapists who **seem** nice, but are really raping assholes. After all, if all rapists were creepy, disgusting dudes who drooled and didn’t bathe and masturbated in public before the raping started, we’d all have a better chance at avoiding being alone with rapists. Wouldn’t we?

Although some rapists are like that, most aren’t. Most rapists look just like anyone else until the raping starts. Sure. They seem nice. They’re charming. Handsome. Funny. “Spiritual.” Whatever…up until the raping starts.

But…she’s not saying that. She’s saying that RAPISTS have parental rights, and they should because “there are a lot of really nice rapists out there.”

I really, really wish I was kidding.

• It’s not enough that our communities don’t believe us, embracing our rapist and shunning us.
• It’s not enough that the cops minimize our violent rapes into some watered-down, understated sexual encounter.
• It’s not enough that we have to go into therapy for months or years, losing our ability to trust anyone.
• It’s not enough that sex is never the same again, and that we can’t bear to have sex that’s not exploitative or violent or completely dissociative, not even with our own husbands.

Nope. None of that is enough, is it?

There are states that feel the need to give rapists PARENTAL RIGHTS for rapes that resulted in pregnancy. Victims must seek permission from their rapist to get an abortion, otherwise THE RAPIST can sue their victims for murdering their child.

Are you fucking kidding me?

On top of being violated in the absolute worst way possible…

(Honestly, had you given me a choice before my rape to be raped by the man I loved and discarded or to die, I would’ve chosen death. Easily. Hands down. It is truly a fate worse than death.)

…these states (31 States!) say that the RAPIST has a say in whether or not the woman, whose body he violently violated, can abort or not. If she chooses to have the baby, then THE RAPIST has PARENTAL RIGHTS to see the child. Certainly not. But they get visitation rights. Yes, they do.

If she gives the child up for adoption, understandably, as recovering from rape is often a life-long process, she is demonized for giving up her child. If she keeps the child, of course, all health care for these babies ends the moment it’s born. So there is the mother, rape survivor, with an unplanned baby from a rape, no insurance, PLUS she has to see HER RAPIST for weekly child visits. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

A few months back, I featured a beautiful piece of satire called “A Fan Letter to Certain Conservative Politicians.” Well worth another read. Scalzi hits the nail on the head.

Still think I’m kidding?

Read this: Rapist Who Got Young Girl Pregnant Traumatizes Her Again By Seeking Visitation With Her Child

She was 14 when she was raped.

14.

He confessed, and they still didn’t convict.

This is reality, people.

This.

The friend who alerted me to this ridiculous clip has a daughter from a particularly brutal rape. My friend nearly died. She had to give up the name of her rapist or go through the humiliating process of running an ad that read: ”{victim’s name} was raped on the night of {date}, in or around first and main streets in {city} the rape resulted in a pregancy if you are the father, please step orward to claim or terminate your parental rights.”

My friend tried being an advocate, talking to senators and the like. This is what she got: “But they are the fathers.”

This was 18 years ago. Nothing’s changed.

Think 18 years is a long time for nothing to have changed? Try nearly five centuries.

Lord Chief Justice Sir Matthew Hale, a 17th-century English jurist: “In a rape case it is the victim, not the defendant, who is on trial.”

Yep.

So, two women are abused every hour in Pakistan? 
One woman is RAPED every. single. minute in the USA.
SIXTY women are RAPED every hour in the USA.

When will we, America, say NO MORE to the RAPIST?
When will we, America, hold the RAPIST accountable?
When will we, America, support the victim and not the RAPIST?
When will we, America, not blame the victim but rather question the accused?
When will we, America, take the blinders off and acknowledge that ONE BILLION women will be beaten or raped in their lifetime?
When will we, America, admit we have a rape problem that’s even bigger than India’s? Where 1800 women are raped every day? Where only 3% of RAPISTS ever see even 1 day of jail time?

When will you, reader?

Please consider nominating me in the following categories:

1. Under “Media Nominations,” choose Best Short Story, near the bottom of the drop-down menu, and type in “A Kiss in the Rain” by O. M. Grey. http://omgrey.wordpress.com/published-works

If you haven’t yet read it, please do! You can get it for just $0.99 on the Kindle and support my work, or read it for free at SNM Horror Mag.

2. Under “Steamlife Nominations,” choose Steampunk Pinup Girl, and type in “O. M. Grey’s cover of Gearhearts” – link to photo: http://omgrey.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/omg_cover_avatar.jpg  OR  http://cdn.comixology.com/2012/MAR12/midsize/MAR120724_m.jpg

Last year, my short story “Dust on the Davenport” won best short story and my novel Avalon Revisited won best fiction.

Thank you for your continuing support!

xo

-_Q

My short story “For the Love of a Book” opens the anthology, and I’m ever so proud of that! Although it’s an unconventional love story, the publisher loved it! The plot seed, as so many of my short story ideas, came from my muse, Doctor Q.

We make a good team.

Comment on this post to win a FREE PDF copy! I’ll take entries until 11:59pm CST on February 18th. Tuesday, the 19th, I’ll choose the winner using Random.org and announce it on my blog. Be sure to leave your email address so that the publisher can send you your FREE PDF eBOOK!

It’s been seven months since I’ve had sex.

For the first five months after the rapes and subsequent devalue/discard, I had sex exactly 4 times. Three with former lovers and once with my husband. I tried two other times with my husband, but it resulted in my breaking down so badly I couldn’t breathe.

Of the three former lovers, I cried after the first one, and I had warned him I might. He was kind and loving. Reassuring.

With the second and third former lovers, I felt nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Which is what I wanted to feel, I suppose. Some kind of escape from the torment.

Nothing.

They weren’t enjoyable. They weren’t fulfilling. They weren’t fun.

They were numbing.

After I had emerged from the trauma-bond cloud and accepted that what had happened back on February 12th and 16th, 2012 was, indeed, rape, through the guidance of a PTSD specialist and a dozen sexual assault professionals, I couldn’t have sex anymore. Not even numbing, dissociative sex.

For me, a passionately sexual and sensual woman, sex had become deeply entwined with exploitation and violation. There was no more love. There was no more ecstasy. There was no more enjoyment or pleasure or fun or anything positive.

Sex was a means to hurt. To destroy.

Sexploitation.

One of the many rape recovery and/or PTSD therapists I’ve seen over the past year just to get me functioning again, the only one, I’m proud to say, that I’m still seeing, defined it for me one day. He always puts things so clearly, and I’m grateful for his kindness and support. I was telling him how my rapist stole my very identity, my sense of self, my ability to trust, and my sexuality. That even the mere thought of sex was disgusting to me now. Utterly revolting.

He said this: “Sex has become mingled with exploitation and violation. That’s part of what we’re doing here, trying to separate those things.”

I told him of how I couldn’t have sex with my husband because there was too much love and emotion around it, and how distressed I was about that. He said that was a common response in cases of PTSD and Rape Trauma Syndrome. Because of the type of rape and betrayal by The Rapist, aka Austin Poly Rapist, since he used intimacy and love as weapons, since the rape of my body was the least damaging thing he did to me, love, as well as sexuality, was tied into rape. Somehow, because of The Rapist’s gross violation of me on a spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical level, the only way sex was possible for me was in a dissociative state, thus the feeling nothing with those former lovers. I knew it couldn’t be romantic with them, so it was just going through the motions.

I checked out emotionally.

Not fun.

Now that it’s been a year and I’m doing so well in my recovery, I’m starting to think about sex again, although I’m nowhere near ready to experience it. My husband has been amazingly supportive of my inability to have sex, even before his accident that broke his pelvis, so he can’t have sex now either for awhile. Still, even before that, he reassured me again and again that our relationship is so much more than sex. Always has been. That has been a very small part of a quite fulfilling, whole relationship, and I’m so grateful for him, his love, and his unending support. We have a complete, loving relationship without sex, so when I’m ready to open myself up like that again, figuratively and literally, it will be yummy icing on an already delicious cake.

I can understand now, as a survivor of rape, why so many survivors de-sexualize themselves, as I feel that’s what I’ve done. So much of my identity was in my sexuality, and now I’m finding my own worth outside of that. I’m embracing others who find my worth outside of that, too. The sexual me was murdered with that rape and betrayal.

For now, I’m isolated from further pain, as much as anyone can be. Until I heal completely, that’s how I’ll stay. I’ve come to realize that the secondary traumas: the betrayal of a therapist who had given me sanctuary then ripped it away; friends turning their backs on me and embracing my rapist; an entire community calling me a liar and a troll, even when I wasn’t doing what they accused me of doing; being stalked at Burning Man; the police translating and minimizing my rape; continuous victim-blaming and rape apologia from all sides, etc., were as damaging as the rape and initial betrayal themselves. Perhaps even more so.

The number one reason women don’t report rape is that they’re afraid of not being believed.

It’s a valid fear. Very few believed me. Every survivor I’ve spoken to has experienced the exact same thing.

I’ll never forgive the Austin Poly Community for turning their backs on me, a few specific people especially. Never. They can fuck themselves, which they’re very good at doing. I’ve distanced myself from everything and everyone in that town, with the exception of a very few who were supportive and kind. Good riddance to the rest.

Tomorrow I’ll STRIKE and DANCE and RISE with the ONE BILLION of my sisters who have been victims of sexualized violence. Yes. You read right. ONE BILLION.

Most of them weren’t believed either. I’m so OVER IT, too. All of it.

I’ll dance with them, but I will dance alone. Protected in isolation. Still, I’m at peace, as much as I can be in the continuing path towards healing. I’ve been told by many rape recovery therapists that it takes years, if not the rest of a survivor’s life, to learn to trust again, especially when raped by someone they knew and loved, as I loved him so deeply.

I see the world differently now, and I suppose I will for awhile. I can’t read, let alone write, much typical romantic stuff, as it is all triggering for me now. Erotica is disgusting or exploitative. Any level of sexual aggression disguised as seduction makes me sick. Quite literally nauseous. The only sex I’ve been able to stomach, on screen or in print, is rape or violent or exploitative sex.

That’s truth. That’s real.

Still, it’s triggering. Any level of sex or romance will send me into a new dissociative state. If you don’t know what that means, I’ll be writing a blog post on it soon. Not a fun place to be, but a relatively safe place.

So: Isolation. Silence. Peace.

Social and emotional exile. It’s beautiful here.

Namaste.

Sweet Isolation and Silence.

The company who puts out this awesome magazine will be publishing three more of my short stories this year. They love my work, and I love their work! The editors of this magazine and the several anthologies they put out each year are not only wonderful to work with professionally, but also on a personal level, they are kind and compassionate people. It’s a privilege to know them, and I’m beyond honored they enjoy my work enough to include it among their fine publications.

You can download this Magazine FOR FREE. 120 pages of horror Short Stories, Flash Fiction, Poetry, Photography, Ads, Interviews, and an excerpt of Julianne Snow’s Days with the Undead: Book One. Included in this issue is my story “Twenty Minutes” and my poem “Look Into My Eyes.”

This issue is dedicated to Women in Horror Recognition Month, and I’m ever so thrilled to be a part of it. This is issue #7. Their other issues can be found on The Siren’s Call website.

Download it now!

-_Q

Peace.

-_Q

Coming very soon, like in March, the new, improved, updated Publishing & Marketing Realities for the Emerging Author, Second Edition.

So much has changed in the past two years since I wrote this book, that it’s high time for an update. In the second edition, MAJOR CHANGES to LSI and CreateSpace as viable publishing options. More on Goodreads, changes to Facebook, and how to use Duotrope effectively, building your name and publishing history while you work on your novel. Plus so very much more.

Still, I have some of the first editions left, so I’m offering a SPECIAL DEAL– get your copy of Publishing & Marketing Realities for the Emerging Author, First Edition, and I’ll email you a FREE PDF Supplemental of all the important updates. You will get all the great information of the first book AND the second book, all for just $7.50.

These books retail for $14.95, so that’s over a 50% savings! BUY YOUR COPY HERE (Only about 40 left!! They’ll go fast!). Anyone who buys a copy in the next 30 days will receive a FREE PDF of all the important updates in the second edition. It’s like getting the second book 50% off before it’s available for anyone else! (And author-signed, too!)

Here is what authors have to say about Publishing & Marketing Realities for the Emerging Author:

“This book gives readers a look into an author’s life while simultaneously imparting invaluable advice. It turns reading what could have otherwise been a dry textbook into an exciting learning experience. Needless to say, I highly recommend Publishing & Marketing Realities for the Emerging Author to everyone who wants to be published…The lifetime benefits as a writer that you’ll receive from this book far outweigh the small price you pay for it.” ~Rachel Brooks, Emerging Author (full review)

“Christine’s book offers a thorough, fresh, and honest look at both traditional and self publishing options. Reading it is like sitting down and having coffee with a good friend who’s in the know about the publishing industry.” ~Evelyn Lafont, author of The Vampire Relationship Guide, Volume One.

“Christine Rose’s book is mandatory reading for anyone who is thinking about writing a book, in process or has just completed one. As a successful, published author, Christine shares a treasure trove of information about marketing and publishing in a witty, concise manner. A mind-boggling world awaits. Let Christine’s guidance help you to get your work into the right hands.” ~ Caroline Kirby, emerging author.

“This should be required reading for emerging authors.” ~ TS Tate, freelance editor.

“This is the one that will guide you through the jumble of today’s publishing options. Packed with practical information, the writing is fast-paced and to the point. No fluff, just facts. A must for every writers reference library. This author has experienced it all, and she graciously reviews the entire process enabling you to realize potential and practical options for your book. I bought the Kindle version and stayed up to read it. Couldn’t put this one down.” ~N. Bright via Amazon.com Reviews

“Publishing & Marketing Realities for the Emerging Author by Christine Rose is a wonderful resource and will definitely stay on my electronic keepers shelf. The “Social Networking” and “Amazon, Smashwords, & PubIt!” sections were especially helpful. I highly recommend you read this book first.” ~A. C. Cockerill via Amazon.com Reviews

“I needed publishing answers and found them quickly in Christine’s Publishing and Marketing Realities. She speaks from her own hard learned experience, not relying on observations of others or second hand advice. If you’re serious about success in today’s fast changing publishing lanes, read this book now!” ~John Smith via Amazon.com Reviews

“I really wish this book had been available when I first started writing and querying literary agents, because it would have left me a lot less frustrated. I would have been better prepared for entering the industry thanks to Rose’s step-by-step guide for surviving the overwhelming world of publishing. I also would have started using Facebook, Twitter, and blogging to my advantage a lot sooner. Rose goes into great detail about not only WHY this is so important to start early on, but also HOW to go about setting all of your social networking and blogging posts to automate, cross-update, etc., in an easy to understand guide.

Rose uses examples from her own writing experiences to make her advice come alive. Her book isn’t just facts and figures laid out in a dry, textbook-like fashion. She keeps it straight to the point (without sugar coating some harsh truths), lets her readers get to know her as an author, and leaves you drooling for more of her great advice.

Thanks to Rose, I understand the different kinds of publishing routes, know what I should be doing to prepare for my writing future at each stage of the journey, and have a greater appreciation for all the hard work that goes into making every single book happen. Any writer serious about publishing will read this book ASAP.”
~R. Brooks via Amazon.com Reviews

As an Indie author, I’m always looking for information on how to market my book. Writing books is the easy part…getting them out to the viewing public…HARD! So, whenever I find a book that seems to promise a few golden nuggets of marketing information, I get it. I was not disappointed with this book in any way! Not only does it have some fresh ideas (after awhile, they all start saying the same things…don’t they?) but she leaves some great lists to follow at the end! This book would be a great addition to anyone trying to learn how best to market their book. I’m really glad I picked this one up! ~Doborah Hughes via Amazon.com Reviews

If you’re an emerging author, you can’t afford to pass up this deal! Even Amazon only has two copies left, and they’re not getting any more. I’ve shut down distribution for the first edition in preparation for the second. This is your last chance to get this books at this low price.

Invest in your future today. You and your career are worth the minimal expense.

Invest in yourself.

BUY NOW!

-_Q

You heard the lady. What are you waiting for?

Filed under: News & Reviews Tagged: amazon, author, avalon, avalon revisited, book, Christine rose, convention, cosplay, duotrope, kindle, marketing, o.m. grey, olivia grey, paranormal romance, podcast, publisher, publishing, publishing & marketing realities, short story ]]> http://omgrey.wordpress.com/2013/02/10/publishing-marketing-realities-for-the-emerging-author-2nd/feed/ 0 omgrey NonFiction4Web2ndEd http://omgrey.wordpress.com/2013/02/08/lesbian-scififantasy-erotica/ http://omgrey.wordpress.com/2013/02/08/lesbian-scififantasy-erotica/#comments Sat, 09 Feb 2013 00:28:15 +0000 omgrey http://omgrey.wordpress.com/?p=4460 ]]> Riverdale Avenue Books/Magnus (RAB) is thrilled to be publishing THE CIRCLET TREASURY OF LESBIAN EROTIC SCIENCE FICTION, an outstanding collection of lesbian erotic science fiction and fantasy!

Kindle version $9.99 and book version $19.99

This collection was originally published as two anthologies, WORLDS OF WOMEN and STARS INSIDE HER.

Best-selling author Dorothy Allison said of WORLDS OF WOMEN:

“Circlet Press is where I go to find fresh, authentic women’s writing. Cecilia Tan puts together some of the most honest and genuinely provocative new work [with] erotica science fiction and fantasy. I strongly recommend you check out WORLDS OF WOMEN.”

This new anthology, edited by Cecilia Tan (founder of Circlet Press), showcases the imaginations of women writers as they take their readers to faraway planets and erotic futures while immersing them in sensual fairy tales. These stories are celebrations of sexuality and each unique voice explores what it means to be a woman who loves women.

ABOUT CECILIA TAN AND CIRCLET:

Cecilia Tan founded Circlet Press in 1992 to publish erotic science fiction and fantasy because no other publisher would. Two decades later both Tan and Circlet are going strong in the world of passionate fiction. Tan is the author of numerous romance novels and books of erotica, and in 2010 was inducted into the Saints & Sinners GLBT Writers Hall of Fame. Circlet Press’s titles have been recipients of multiple Rainbow Awards and NLA Writing Awards, and have been multiple finalists in the Lambda Literary Awards and Independent Publisher Awards.

RAB publisher Lori Perkins says: “We are so pleased to be adding this collection of science fiction and fantasy lesbian stories to the Magnus/RAB list and showcasing the creativity of this genre in the LGBT world. We hope our fans will embrace this wonderful collection!”

Please “like” the book on Amazon & get your own copy today!

If you are a reviewer, please look for the book on NetGalley, or email for a review copy.

A Shade of Vampire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve found peace among the chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It will be the month we survived against all odds.

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

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

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

-_Q

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

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

Or it should be.

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

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

Which means I can’t say anything.

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

And its killing me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’s a rapist.

How do you reconcile that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because it will keep us sane.

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

-_Q

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

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

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

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

My biggest comment on this stems from these lines:

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

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

Someone cannot be a good person a rape.

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

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

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

Thoughts?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Join me on Goodreads!

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

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

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

I have two words for you: Fuck You.

Leave me alone.
You are not welcome here.

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

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

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

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

Excerpt from this post:

Recent Events

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

* * *

An Assault

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will never be silent again.

Peace.

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

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

I dug a grave today.

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

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

Then I Googled the number.

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

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

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

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

I dug a grave today.

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

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

They insisted. I relented.

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

Stupid assumptions.

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

I offered to call a pet sitter twice.

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

I dug a grave today.

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

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

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

Wasn’t it enough they were willing to drive 4 hr RT 3x?
Wasn’t it enough they drove every day to “care” for the animals (12 mile round trip)?
Wasn’t it enough they were ready at a moment’s notice?
Wasn’t it enough they arranged the truck pickup?

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

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

I should’ve known something was wrong then.
In fact, I did know, which is why I asked.
Three times.
Because the first two times were ignored.

I should’ve called the pet sitter like my mind had told me to, but I was too worried of hurting the relatives’ feelings.
Because I didn’t listen to myself, again,

I dug a grave today.

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

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

Yep.

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

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

I trusted them.

So I dug a grave today.

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

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

I sat alone with my dying dog.

Dying because they couldn’t even take basic care of him.
Because they told me not to call a pet sitter, and I listed.
Because I trusted them.

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

No. Not at all.

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

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

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

Yep. Rapists get rewarded.

I dug a grave today.

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

I dug a grave today.

Fuck you, life.

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

Yep. I dug a grave today.

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

Just peace.

I dug a grave today.
I only wish it had been my own.

Rob,

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

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

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

The one! The badass! The Rob!

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

Peace and comfortable shoes, my friend.

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

So, yeah. Good detective story, but…