Send NARAL Some Money

Me & Jenn did, and we're poor and have no money. But hey, that's $20 more to stuff down some asshole's throat.

If SD pisses you off, why not send some money to somebody worthwhile? Even $5. It'll make you feel better. That, or you could send hangers to the governor of SD. I'm getting increasingly pissed off, and that'll be my next act of anger.

Cause it's abortion today, and birth control tomorrow, and isn't that exciting!

IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE IN ABORTION, DON'T HAVE ONE. Don't try telling me what my "empty vessel" body's good for. That's my decision.

And whoever these women are who believe that they're "aborting babies" by taking the pill because they're confused about what the pill does (makes your body think you're pregnant, so you don't ovulate), and what abortion is ("abortion" doesn't happen until *after* a *fertilized egg* *attaches itself to the uterus* and is *removed from the uterus after having been attached*) - DON'T TAKE THE PILL. IF YOU THINK YOU ARE KILLING "BABIES" THEN DON'T USE BIRTH CONTROL OR DON'T HAVE SEX.

Don't tell me what to do with my own girl parts, thanks. That's my decision.

You know, Iran tried this "ban contraception" thing and doubled their population in 10 years. They had to retract that particular little law because they couldn't support the excess population - too many abandoned babies, too many poor men and women who needed help from the state to raise their children, huge drain on social services.

But nobody reads history anymore.

Ode To The Venom Cock

This is not a feminist book, despite much contrary argument.

It also has no plot.

If I can ever manage to wade through the last heap of this sorry little fucker, I'm going to bitch all about it.

Dear South Dakota: More Fuck-Yous

The President of the Oglala Sioux Tribe on the Pine Ridge Reservation, Cecilia Fire Thunder, was incensed (at the SD abortion ban). A former nurse and healthcare giver she was very angry that a state body made up mostly of white males, would make such a stupid law against women.

“To me, it is now a question of sovereignty,” she said to me last week. “I will personally establish a Planned Parenthood clinic on my own land which is within the boundaries of the Pine Ridge Reservation where the State of South Dakota has absolutely no jurisdiction.”

That's probably the coolest Fuck You ever. Where do I send PP and Fire Thunder some money for *that* venture?

Back To Indy

It's like some kind of conspiracy. They know I hate it there, so they keep sending me.

Monday and Tuesday in the Great Plains of Nowhere.

Gee, I'm so excited.

The Dragon's Wall

Ten chapters to go in the major rewrite of tDW. It's exhausting, yea, but it's a good book, and it's fun watching it become a better book.

After that, I need to decide if I want to keep one of my POV characters or dump him for someone else, then rewrite those, print, revise, send to my next set of readers, revise again. Print.

Then send out and wipe my hands of it for a month or two while Agent reviews revisions.

After that, I bury myself back into God's War.

It's really nice to be writing again.

I feel a lot saner.

Behind Every Great Writer...

Not that Brown's a "great writer," but it's a nice look at the invisible partners-behind-the-writers.

This week Dan Brown, author of The Da Vinci Code, revealed that his wife Blythe helps him write his bestsellers. It puts him in good company...

Why Am I Wearing Size Twelve Pants? (And Why Is It So Damn Cold Outside?)

While sitting on my heels in yoga class on Friday, I stared at my reflection on the mirrored wall. I looked at the reflection of the others in the class.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I realized I was average-sized. I did not look like a mushroom. I did not look twice as big as all of the women in class. Sure, I'm tall and big in the hips, but when you line me up with everyone else, I don't immediately stick out as being huger than the rest.

On Saturday, I tried on a couple pairs of size 12 jeans and slipped right into them. Today, for the first time, I'm weaing 12s to work.

You would think - after looking at myself in the mirror every day and dropping two sizes since Christmas - that I would think of myself as average-sized. You would think I'd strut around and take pride in my size M sweat pants, size M T-shirts and size L work shirts.

But I don't. Not really. I keep thinking they've done something with the clothing sizes. They must have made them all bigger. That's the problem. That's why I've had to purge 80% of my wardrobe in the last six months.

In my head, I'm still a fat girl.

I grew up being "the fat girl." I grew up getting spit on and made fun of for it. Guys loved being "just friends" with me. Women loved the fact that they didn't have to compete with me. I internalized this idea of myself, of being too big in a world that wanted small women. I'm still the height and weight of the average guy, so really, by social standards I *am* still big, just not as gargantuan as I think I am. I'm at my Alaska weight, my highschool theater weight. I'm at the weight I hit when all is right in my world and I'm not binge eating.

But imagine, just imagine the sort of strange body image you'd have of yourself if you'd spent the last 14 years yo-yoing from a size 12 to a 22. You'd have a pretty weird image of your body. When I look in the mirror, whether at a 12 or a 22, I see the same person.

Nobody else seems to, except maybe my closest friends. My body shape stays roughly the same - I just get more of it when I'm heavier, and less when I'm thinner. Still big in the hips and shoulders, small in the bust, long-legged, big in the thighs. It's the same almost-hourglass shape (made hourglass not with large breasts, but wide shoulders). It's all the same.

The real kicker is that the last two times I was at this weight, I was either 1) eating once or twice a day (high school theater, when I was 14/15) 2) going to the gym 5 days a week, doing a weight routine 5 mornings a week, living primarily on brown rice and eggs, and riding my bike 2-3 times a week (Alaska, when I was 19-21).

Now I eat pretty much everything all the time, lift weights 5 mornings a week, and go the gym once, maybe twice a week (and I haven't been in ages, except for the yoga class. Trying to get back on that, for stength and stamina purposes, not weight loss).

There's really something to the whole "eat when you're hungry and stop dieting" thing. The yo-yoing stops.

I'd say that stress was a factor - and maybe it is - but my usual template when stressed is that I *gain* weight, because I binge eat and get depressed. But I don't binge eat anymore.

It's funny how long it takes you to figure out your body. I think the Christian-hate-your-corporeal-body stuff is deep-rooted in our society, and so it takes longer to understand how everything works than it would otherwise. It took me forever to realize that my sex drive spiked sharply about the time I was ovulating. It's taken me six months to realize all of these little ailments are huge signs of prolonged stress. And eating... eating... it's taken me so long to figure out that eating doesn't have to be about hating yourself, or punishing yourself, or about being guilty. Eating is about fueling up for the next round of weight lifting, for the next flight of stairs. There's pleasure in eating, in fulfilling a craving, and less pleasure in overeating than I always thought.

Strength, too, has enormous benefits. I tried so hard to be thin and waifish and beat myself up because I was so big and tall, and now I realize how much strength and power there is in being big and tall. I have a body that's great for boxing and weight lifting. Pretty perfect for it, really. I enjoy bike riding. I intend to make the weekly yoga class routine. I spent so, so long hating this body for not being Britney-Spears-Beautiful that I ignored what it *could* do. What I can teach it to do.

I just got so tired of hating myself.

And now I'm single again, and scrutinizing myself in the mirror again, this time to try and see what other people see. I'm trying to figure out if I'm attractive, really attractive in the sense that somebody would actually want to date me. Which is absurd, of course - somebody either likes you or they don't, and there's no use beating yourself up about that, either. But it's on my mind. It's something I stir around.

I am an intimidating woman. Lots of people have said so. It makes me a little sad that potential partners get freaked out by that, but why would I want to be with somebody who got freaked out by the fact that I was taller than him, or outweighed him by 30 lbs? If that's all it takes to freak him out, the Master's Degree and the novel writing will send him screaming for the hills.

And that's been my problem all along. I get so excited at the idea that there's a smart guy who's attracted to me that I don't stop and think. I don't think about how equal we are, how secure he is with who I am and what I do.

For all my strength and smarts, I can still get stuck in the idea that I should feel happy just because some guy is interested in me. It's the siren song of the media trap: you're a strong, smart woman. You should feel lucky to end up with any guy at all.

Such bullshit.

Because if there are no strong, smart guys who can handle me, you know what? I've got strong, smart, friends. And those friends could give a shit if I'm a size 12 or a 22.

I am blessed. I am lucky. Because even when I'm single, I'm not alone.

That's the trick. That's the key. That's what nobody talks about.

Sex and partners are great. But I've got friends who'll be with me until the end of the world.

So here I sit in my size 12 pants, waiting around for more snow to fall . I don't feel much different than I did at a 22. Maybe stronger, because of the weight lifting, lighter, more flexible. But in the mirror, I'm just me.

Just Kameron.

I write books. I'm doing Friday yoga classes. I'm teaching myself Arabic. I want to take a French class if I'm still here in the fall. I'm applying for a writing job at a gaming company. I lift weights. I enjoy boxing. I want to run around the world and back again. I want to bungee jump in New Zealand. I want to live overseas again before I'm 30. I want to get back to boxing before I'm 30. I want to hold the world in the palm of my hand, when I'm 30.

I want. I desire.

And they are the same wants and desires, whether I'm a 12 or a 22.

I realize that. I wonder if anyone else does.

Gee, Maybe It's All Stress

SIGNS OF STRESS:

(with an "X" by the ones I've had the last 6-8 months)

X sleep disturbances
X back, shoulder or neck pain
X tension or migraine headaches
X upset or acid stomach, cramps, heartburn, gas, irritable bowel syndrome
constipation, diarrhea
X weight gain or loss, eating disorders
hair loss
X muscle tension
X fatigue
high blood pressure
irregular heartbeat, palpitations
asthma or shortness of breath
chest pain
sweaty palms or hands
cold hands or feet
X skin problems (hives, eczema, psoriasis, tics, itching)
X periodontal disease, jaw pain
X reproductive problems
X immune system suppression: more colds, flu, infections
growth inhibition
X nervousness, anxiety
X depression, moodiness
“butterflies”
X irritability, frustration
X memory problems
X lack of concentration
X trouble thinking clearly
X feeling out of control
substance abuse
X phobias
X overreactions

And this tidbit: Susceptibility to yeast infections can be caused by prolonged periods of stress. Recurrent yeast infections may be from a relapse due to an alteration in the immune response system due to stress. Stress has been greatly underestimated in the cause of some illnesses and infections. You may need to find ways to reduce your stress as much as possible.

The "reproductive" problems have finally begun to ease up. It's pretty painful to go to a doctor for the second time and hear that you don't have a yeast infection, you don't have an STD (well, OK, it's *good* to hear that part) - there is, in fact, nothing wrong with you at all. Too bad for you that you're itchy and in pain.

You're stressed out. And your body's telling you so.

I decided to look up symptoms of stress after reading this post over at boingboing. In addition to all the other health problems I've had the last 6-8 months, I noticed I was getting these itchy and/or dry patches of skin. The itchy patches are now almost completely gone, and the dry patches are as well. My heartburn has gone away since I broke up with B. I had a nightmare last night that I was sick with some horrible virus or stomach flu again. I feel like I've done nothing but be sick for the last year.

For some time, I've had trouble sleeping. I still get up 3-4 times a night. When I brush my teeth, my gums bleed a lot more than they should. And I had these days of excessive thirst where no matter how much I drank, I still felt dehydrated. My moments of claustrophobia were starting to pick up, particularly in airplanes, then on the train. My claustrophobia has been mostly dormant for some time.

I didn't think any of these things were related.

Our client here at the day job is beginning a 3-week "work freeze" on all of their cell sites beginning the 31st.

I'm thinking that'll be a good time to take some time off.

Octavia Butler Clarion Scholarship

The Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship will enable writers of color to attend one of the Clarion writing workshops, where Octavia got her start. It is meant to cement Octavia's legacy by providing the same experience/opportunity that Octavia had to future generations of new writers of color. In addition to her stint as a student at the original Clarion Writers Workshop in Pennsylvania in 1970, Octavia taught several times for Clarion West in Seattle, Washington, and Clarion in East Lansing, Michigan, giving generously of her time to a cause she believed in.

The first Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship will be awarded in 2007. We'll announce details of the application process later this year.

Our goal for a fully endowed scholarship fund is $100,000. At this time, we welcome your tax deductible gift of any amount to this fund. Please use the button (on the linked page) to donate via PayPal or a major credit card. If you'd prefer to make your donation in the form of a check or money order, please make it payable to "The Carl Brandon Society" and note that it is for "The Octavia E. Butler Memorial Scholarship Fund." Then mail your donation to:

The Octavia E. Butler
Memorial Scholarship Fund
c/o The Carl Brandon Society
P.O. Box 23336
Seattle, WA 98102

Link

Good Morning, Chicklits

It's a beautiful sunny day here in Chicagoland.

Cold, though, still. Someday it'll be spring.

Also, for anybody who's ever felt like they've failed in life and can't get up again, I recommend watching the entertaining Elizabeth Town, in which Orlando Bloom actually has a personality.

Trust me.

My First Yoga Class

Had my first yoga class tonight - an hour and a half.

That's a lot of yoga.

It kicked me pretty well, though I've done pilates before, so it wasn't totally different.

The best part of the night was the last ten minutes when the instructor had us close our eyes and relax, and shook out our legs for us. Then we sat in the meditation pose for a minute, and she said, "Whatever comes into your head, just let it go. Just let it go."

Let. It. Go.

Fall down seven times. Get up eight.

Let it go.

My Games are Here!

It is a sweet day when playing video games becomes job research.

Most excellent.

Last Night...

I dreamt that I was at my little high school theater, sitting in the audience watching a show being put on by Ben Rosenbaum and Meghan McCarron and a bunch of people from my days back at the theater. For some reason, they were doing an audio recording of the show for David Moles, because he's in Switzerland.

I sat next to my old friend Ryan, who still looked fourteen, and he told me he'd had a dream that the two of us were married and owned a truck-repair business.

"How'd that dream make you feel?" I asked.

"Happy," he said.

Behind us sat the VanderMeers, and Jeff kept trying to get my attention.

"After the show we should all go out and get something to eat," Jeff said.

"Sure, sure," I said, but this idea filled me with panic, because this was my hometown of Battle Ground, and.. there aren't any good places to eat there.

So while the show rolled and David's tape recorder recorded and Ryan tried to decide whether or not to ask me to marry him, I worried over where the hell I could take the VanderMeers out to dinner that wouldn't embarrass me. The local Burgerville seemed a little bit gauche.

Moral of the story:

I need to stop reading my blogroll so much.

And invest in a high-quality eatery in Battle Ground.

So sad...

... to still love someone you know you had to leave.

On the "Benefits" of Abstinence-Only Education & A Country Without Roe

An average of 5 women…(I teach) usually out of a total of 10 to 15…have to be educated about their reproductive cycle, how sex may result in pregnancy, what contraceptive methods are available to them and/or how to choose the best method. And Average of 5 women per class cycle relate misinformation about contraception…feel that using the pill may make them unable to have a baby in the future…believe that the pill may protect them against sexually transmitted diseases…feel that it is inappropriate to ask their sexual partner to use a condom because it ‘assumes that they are sick’…strongly believe that they can not contract a sexually transmitted disease from oral sex…think the withdrawal method works...think that you can ‘tell by looking at someone’ if they have a sexually transmitted disease…and do not feel that they need to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases until they are pregnant because they ‘feel fine’...

One current student engaged in over 60 unprotected sexual encounters in an effort to ‘get rid of those sinful feelings for women’ and sincerely hopes that her child ‘helps her not be a dyke anymore’.

And it goes on and on

Read the rest at Angry Black Bitch

The Funny Thing...

... about living for so long under such high stress is that you don't know how bad it was until it goes away.

It's Still Snowing

Yup.

The good news is, all of this damn editing is finally getting done.

It's Snowing

Again.

Today's Writing Project:

Extract 40 pages (2 chapters) of pretty bad, jumbled writing from tDW. Make a list of all the plot points that occur in those chapters.

Rewrite the chapters to include all of those plot points, only in half the word length and with twice the tension.

Ah, rewriting.

I'm going to be so happy to start a new book in December. Ah, December, when I'll be rewriting God's War. At least tDW will be in the mail again by October.

Grief

I was on the phone with my buddy Stephanie the other night - I've known her since we were fourteen or fifteen, and she's quite familiar with the fuck-up that was my only other relationship.

I've been mostly OK about my current breakup, though there are times when I experience these terrible moments of absolute grief. B is a good man. Despite all our troubles and differences, he is really wonderful, and I know I'm lucky I dated such a great person. We just weren't right for each other.

"Just think of it this way," Stephanie said. "When you broke up with B, he didn't threaten to kill you and drink bleach. That's an improvement from that other guy you dated. It'll all get better from here."

Gee, it better.

I feel like every time I try to get into some kind of sexual relationship with somebody, it all goes bad. I've had two relationships and two brief affairs. One guy was an abusive fucker. The other one too emotionally exhausting for me. Breaking up with both of them was incredibly hard. I'd like to say the affairs were better, but one of them nearly cost me our friendship, and the other one had a girlfriend who later threatened to kill me.

I'm not seeing a real great pattern here.