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Show Time, Synergy

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The recent dust up over the new Jem & The Holograms movie hit a nerve with me. I didn’t even know that nerve existed in my body, but there it was, throbbing. If you are in your thirties, can still recite the theme song to Jem & The Holograms (come on, it isn’t even that long), maybe you know what I’m talking about. Or, maybe you haven’t been heartbroken yet. Here you go.

What is the big deal, you ask? Art moves. Art is fluid, right? Art changes with the times. So what if there is no Synergy? So what if there are no Misfits? So what if Jerrica is a total whine-baby dud teenager instead of an up-and-coming young business woman at the helm of a music label?

Screw you, that isn’t art. That is Starbucks slopping some caramel sauce in a latte and telling the world its a caramel machiato. Which, fine, maybe that caramel latte is delicious, I don’t know (I do know, dammit, it is pretty good) but that doesn’t make it a machiato.

I’m getting off track. I have nerve pain here.

The whole reason for resurrecting popular 80’s cartoons into live action movies today is to capitalize on parents’ emotional ties to their childhood. This is why there are nine hundred Transformers and G.I. Joe movies (also because boys are more interesting to money makers than girls but that is another rant for another day). Because parents buy movie tickets and merchandise for their kids if they have an emotional tie to the product. Ingenious! I don’t even mind the manipulation.

I want to buy my kid a Strawberry Shortcake not because she is the coolest doll on the market but because I can give my kid a little strawberry scented piece of my own childhood. And, OK, if you want to slut up Strawberry Shortcake a little to compete with Bratz dolls, whatever.

But, you don’t rewrite Jem & The Holograms. You don’t water that down.

What they’ve done is taken a plucky, capable young woman executive of a small music label – which is a pretty cool premise – and made her a passive, easily manipulated teenage girl. Maybe the thinking here is that girls need to relate to a character to get them to see movies.

All teenage girls are blond, passive, clumsy and easily manipulated, right?

But, why not show a complex character with a duality to her personality? Give us a complicated group of punk rock girls as the antagonists and make us root for them equally. Show us how a bunch of women can be creative and strong. And, give us a little high tech wonder to make it interesting because girls like technology, too. Do they honestly think teenage girls wouldn’t relate to that?

When I was in second grade, I could not fathom anything cooler than Jem & The Holograms. I hadn’t really been introduced to Debbie Gibson yet – that juggernaut was coming. I knew if I just showed the world how talented I was, I could probably end up with an A.I. magic machine that threw holograms over my body and made me something special. I don’t think I expected too much. Hell, I’m still working that goal.

So, I wrote a one woman play that featured Jem, The Holograms, one of The Misfits – Stormer, natch, and Cookie Monster (my teacher loved chocolate chip cookies and I knew my audience, I’m no dummy). A tambourine was definitely involved. It was critically acclaimed – my best friend at the time said it was great.

I asked my teacher, Mrs. Fisher, if I could perform it on stage in the gymnasium of my elementary school. She was a very kind, indulgent woman but she told me no, maybe I could just perform it in front of the class. I was crestfallen. Would the record executives at Starlight even see me in the classroom?

At the end of the day, Mrs. Fisher made time for my show and introduced me to the class. I may be no dummy but I’m also no performer. I froze, it’s true. But, Jerrica had Synergy to help her along. All I had was a tambourine. I stood in front of the class and they waited. And, waited. Finally, some bitch named Jamie popped up, grabbed my tambourine and sang a song about Mrs. Fisher eating the Cookie Monster and it was awful. She was horrible. When she was finished, that bitch handed the tambourine BACK TO ME and we both sat down.

Later, I told my cousins that I couldn’t perform the play the way I’d intended because I’d written it for the stage, not the front of a classroom.

Jem was important to me from about 1985 – 1988 when it was on television. It was important to me afterward in ways I couldn’t calculate because it urged me to be creative and it showed me role models that were funny and goofy and problematic – and they were creative women. To this day, Stormer is still one of my favorites because she was bad but she was good, too. The Misfits were a really talented band – just as talented as The Holograms. For a seven year old to understand and root for that dichotomy is really interesting.

In second grade, I wrote a script that was somehow more authentic to the original vision of Jem & The Holograms than Hollywood has been able to put together. And, mine had Cookie Monster in it. So, Hollywood, when the time comes to shop around She-Ra scripts, you know where you can find me.

That would be truly outrageous.

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“Places Still On Fire” Shortlisted At The Masters Review!

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I am so thrilled that my short story “Places Still On Fire” has been shortlisted for

The Masters Review Volume IV!

See the official announcement here. 

Guest editor Kevin Brockmeier (!!!) will make his final decision by the end of May.

I’m honestly thrilled to know that even if my story is not selected, it will be read by Kevin Brockmeier. That feels like a victory.

Note: Picture taken from http://www.offroaders.com/album/centralia/maps.htm

“Thank You For Watching” Published at The Stoneslide Corrective

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Some Rights Reserved: Rogers Studio. Canada. Department of Manpower and Immigration. Library and Archives Canada, e010996461 /
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode

I have a brand new story published at The Stoneslide Corrective!

Thank You For Watching

was written as an homage to the old Twilight Zone episodes I used to watch as a kid.

It was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Special thanks to Christopher Wachlin, editor at The Stoneslide Corrective,

for all of his help on this story!

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Chasing The Cracks Nominated for a Pushcart Prize

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My short story, Chasing The Cracks, has been nominated for a 2014 Pushcart Prize. This story was published in 94 Creations #6 in October.

From 94 Creation’s website:

“94 Creations nominates the works of four outstanding contributors for The Pushcart Prize, a prestigious American literary prize by Pushcart Press that honors the best poetry, short fiction, and essays published in small presses over the previous year. “

Thank you to the wonderful editors at 94 Creations for this honor!

To read this story, check out 94 Creations #6. It is a great edition with a lot of stellar reads and it would make a great Christmas present! Just sayin’!

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New Story, “Chasing The Cracks”, published at 94 Creations

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I am so proud to have a new short story, “Chasing The Cracks” published at 94 Creations Issue 6.

This edition is available through amazon.com.

http://goo.gl/MwRxPp

According to their website, “94 Creations is a literary journal that publishes an eclectic assortment of outstanding fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, drama, and art by both emerging and established writers and artists.”

Smiling Faces

Today, I was watching the local news while nursing my four month old daughter. The black and red news banner read:

CRISIS IN WEST BANK

Flashy logo, big bold letters. Sunday was the deadliest day since the conflict erupted two weeks ago. But, today was a rainy summer Monday here in North Carolina. I had my child, safe, nestled up against me. Watching the news, I had that vague empty feeling you get knowing that something horrible is happening somewhere far from you.

Maybe you hate it. You hate knowing it is happening but you change the channel when they start bringing out their dead and you cry about how there is too much negativity in the world. At least, that is what I do.

I’ve been alive for almost 35 years and for every single one of those, there have been news banners hailing a crisis in the Middle East. Generation after generation of hate and violence and no answers, no answers, just more hate and violence. These things are passed down in the blood, in the milk that flows from mother to child.

I burrowed my body further into the couch, listened to the rain pelt the windows and hugged my daughter to me. I pushed that one stubborn lock of hair off her forehead and she blinked up at me.

A face flashed across the television screen.

A boy, smiling, his arm hugging someone cropped out of the picture. Not a boy, not really. A dead soldier. An American citizen, killed in the conflict in Gaza.

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It isn’t important that he was an American, other than the fact that this got him on my local news. But, his name was Sean Nissim Carmeli and he was from Texas.

My daughter turned her head, distracted by the sounds coming from the television. I murmered, “Shh, come back,” to her but something, someone, had caught her attention.

She’s flirting now, this tiny girl. She’s beginning to feel people react to her happiness. She saw the happy face of the soldier, this dead boy, on the television. And, she answered with a big grin that crinkled her eyes and transformed her entire sleepy face. His picture was smiling back at her. He could have been in our living room, that was how delighted she was by his face. She let out a deep belly laugh.

I feel it now – this loss and so many others reported on the news. I feel it through her. Because, she doesn’t care about the thousands of differences that divide us. She hasn’t learned to care yet. The only thing she cared about was that he had a pretty smile and she liked him but he is already gone from her world. How many more? Over 500 smiling faces already gone in the last two weeks alone.

Over 500 and counting.

Come on, ride the train, hey, ride it, woo woo

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I feel like I win anytime I can quote Quad City DJ. But, that also means I’ve won exactly once.

Today.

Right now.

The lovely and talented Denise Long invited me to participate in the (chugga chugga) Literary Blog Train. So, here it is! 

 

What am I working on?

  • Editing a new story I wrote called Crybaby Bridge and getting set to start shopping it around. 
  • Working on a once-short story (but, now longer story – a life of its own, this one) called The Wild Hunt about The Pinery Dens of Wisconsin in the 1800s. Has a bit of magical realism, violence, sex and zombies. Just kidding about the zombies. Well, I don’t know. By the time I’m done, there might be zombies. 
  • A young adult novel called The In (Between) Crowd about what happens when time literally stops for one group of teenagers. 
  • Submitting, submitting, submitting. 

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

I don’t think my work falls into any one genre because I’m still finding my groove but I do love writing horror and stories with an unreliable magical bent. I gravitate towards fakelore – those small town stories that get passed around our communities like The Warlock’s Grave, Crybaby Bridges, etc. Magical thinking, at its heart, is unreliable and I like to write about that ambiguity. 

Why do I write what I do?

When I was younger, I’d try to write to trends and it always failed. So, now, I wait until something catches my attention and I write my way into it. My writing can be dark so I guess I write that because my mind is a dark, cold place.

I watch a lot of murder stories on Dateline.

I like them.

See, I’m a wicked dark soul. 

I’m not so great at introspection, maybe. I write what I write because that’s what I write. *shrug*

How does my writing process work?

Something, a word or a phrase, snags my notice. Sometimes, that triggers an idea and I start writing around and around it until something takes shape. Oftentimes, it will end up being completely different than what I first imagined. If I try to write from an outline, I feel stifled and get frustrated so I just let the writing loose when it comes. 

Then, I edit, edit, edit. I edit as I write my first draft. I edit and re-write sometimes 10 more drafts until it feels right to me. Then, I put it away for a week and edit it again.

Sometimes, I get excited and send it out for submission early. A few times, this has worked. Usually, this is a great way to get a rejection in my inbox. So, it is always better to wait a day even if I feel like something is ready to walk out the door. 

Tag, You’re It!

And, because turn about is fair play, I’m calling on a few of my friends to play, too: Sarah Bost-Askins and Molly Schoemann-McCann

Dooooo it, Ladies. Dooooooooooo it. All the cool kids are doin’ it. Just sayin’. 

#Yes, But, ALL Men?

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The other day, I was in the kitchen with my husband and I was BITCHING up a storm. I do this sometimes in the morning. My husband started it, to be fair. He said to me, “I’ve never really thought about it but women’s bodies are kind of amazing.”

Now, I don’t believe for a second that he’s never thought about that before. Because, I know this guy. He thinks about women’s bodies a lot. Picture the scene: my adorable husband was making our coffee while I fixed breakfast, our daughter in her infant swing cooing sweetly (not really, she was also bitching up a storm but she doesn’t confine this activity to morning like her mother). I turned to him, spatula in hand and said, “What now?”

“Yeah, you literally birth life in the world. Then, with breastfeeding, you can feed that new life. Your body supplies all the nutrients that little life needs. For like a year!”

Instead of walking across the kitchen and kissing him on the cheek, I said, “Yeah, and look what it gets us. Objectified! We get called fat when we don’t bounce back quickly enough.”

“Well,” he said. “I think its really amazing that the human body can do that.”

“Not the human body,” I said. “The female body.”

“Right,” he responded. “That is what I said. What can a man’s body do?”

“You are real good at destroying things,” I offered, helpfully. This is where the real hardcore proselytizing began. He jump started something in me. “We are subjugated by men whose greatest achievement is destruction. The only reason it took us so long to get the vote in this god damn country is because we were too busy RUNNING THIS SHIT.”

His response? “Hey, Gloria Steinem, dial it back a notch. I want those eggs dippy.”

My husband is a feminist in the most practical sense of the word. He might not identify himself as such politically but at heart and in action, he is a card carrying member of the Equality For All Club. He was raised by a strong mother and has two strong sisters. He has a surplus of female friends that he respects and terrorizes as all good friends should. He treats me and our daughter with care and respect. We have a fair division of labor – sure, we have to tweak it at times. Recent life changes have tilted the scale a little heavy on my side but he knows it and tries to help whenever he can.

Thinking about my weekend breakfast rant got me wondering about all the men in my life. It made me happy to realize that most of the men I know are good and strong and respectful of women. My Dad made me laugh when he was visiting recently: I asked him about an old boss of mine, a woman he went to High School with. I asked him what she was like when she was younger. His response: “Same as she is now. An asshole.”

First off, this lady really is an asshole. I was asking about her because she was the worst boss I ever had and I harbor this secret fantasy of her being dragged off to debtors prison or something equally Victorian. Secondly, I love that I’ve never heard my father call a woman a gender-specific slur. He didn’t say she was a bitch. He didn’t refer to the fact that she was a lesbian. He called her an asshole. He would never, never, never call a woman a slut or a whore. But, an asshole? That is a true indictment coming from my Dad.

I know some really cool men.

I know honest, respectful, loving and kind men.

I know difficult men who would never harm a woman.

But, then, how do I explain why #YesAllWomen hit a nerve with me? Or, why I exploded over the iniquity of sexism over Saturday breakfast?

Because.

Because, every single woman I know, including myself, has felt it.

Because, when we get together, we can play the “Who has been sexually abused game” and we all lose.

Because, 300 girls were kidnapped in Nigeria and no one stopped it from happening.

Because, those girls are not home yet.

Because, we care if Jessica Simpson is fat or skinny. Not that she has talent or value. We care about her tits.

Because, a man will go on a killing rampage over perceived sexual rejection from women. If only it had occurred to him that he was being rejected because of his overt entitlement to sex.

Because, Farzana Parveen was murdered by her family for marrying a man against their wishes. “One family member made a noose of rough cloth around her neck while her brothers smashed bricks into her skull, said Mushtaq Ahmed, a police official, citing the preliminary report into the killing. She was three months pregnant, he said.” 

Because, Hillary Clinton had to jokingly say her new memoir was to be called “The Scrunchy Diaries”.

Because, Meriam Yahya Ibrahim gave birth in a Sudani prison for daring to marry outside her family’s religion. Because they imprisoned her toddler son along with her. She has been sentenced to death. Should we be grateful they let her give birth before killing her?

Because, if I breastfeed my child in public, I am an indecent whore.

Because, if I don’t breastfeed my child, I’m selfish.

Because, ladies, we do it to each other.

Because, where is your sense of humor?

Because, I was once assaulted by two men against the side of a church during an evening run. Fortunately, I had my dog with me and she acted like A REAL BITCH and bit one of them. I went to the police, not to report the attack but because I was afraid my dog would be labeled as violent. It did not occur to me that the men would be arrested on my account. And, they were not.

Because, men bitch about “the friend zone” instead of valuing friendship. Does a woman’s friendship mean nothing if she is unwilling to have sex with you?

Because, after our rehearsal dinner, my wedding party went to a local bar. I was wearing an awesome dress and felt wonderful. As we walked in, a strange man referred to me as “the one with the tits”. When my husband stopped to confront him, he said, “Sorry, man.”

Sorry, man.

Not, sorry, m’am.

Because, it makes more sense to apologize to another man for insulting his woman but not to the woman you just insulted.

Because of the growing threat to abortion rights in the country. A woman’s body does not belong to the government.

Because, people BITCHED about insurance companies covering birth control when those same policies cover erectile dysfunction medication and devices.

Because, if you have too many children and go on welfare, you are an unfit mother.

Because, before the Affordable Care Act, as a contractor buying my own insurance, my coverage did not include maternity. Maternity coverage would have tripled the cost.

Because people BITCH about the Affordable Care Act when it was designed to create safe minimum requirements for Maternity and Mental Health Coverage (among other things). The next person that says to me, “Obama lied when he said we could keep our coverage” is going to get poked in the eye. The insurance companies changed your coverage in response to the bill because they had previously been short changing people on coverage. They just passed the cost of it on to you or cancelled policies that were not profitable for them anymore. But, no, that’s Obama’s fault, right?

Because, we still live in a culture that says things like “boys will be boys”.

Because I have to be a BITCH to get my point across.

Because, this.

Because.

So, no, not all men. But, yeah, All Women.

This isn’t a Women’s Rights Issue. This is a common decency issue. We shouldn’t be judged, as a culture, by whomever among us achieves the highest. Instead, we should be judged by the lowest achievements we tolerate.

Because we can all do better.

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