I’m Not Picking On Pick-Up Artists. Much.

I can’t remember how I learned about the “Seduction Community” or “pick up artists”, but I do remember my reaction…

If even just 10% of the guys out there who had trouble getting chicks the way they want read this site, and made use of the materials, understood the attitudes, etc., not only would they significantly improve their lives and the lives of the chicks they interact with, they’d also cause a “shift” in many chicks on this side of the world to realize they must improve themselves (lose weight, get better attitudes, stop playing games) in order to have a better chance to get a quality male. Because most guys, once they know this stuff, raise the standard they are willing to accept from chicks, and disregard chicks that aren’t up to par.  That means goodbye teases, bitches, fatties, psychos, and manipulators.  Bye bye.  Hello stable, secure, good-looking, nice chicks who aim to please REAL MEN in their lives.

..and that quiet, decorous, rational reaction was,

WHAT THE FUCK?

If you get past the part where the author is just doing the Lord’s work, y’all – trying to get women of the world “to realize they must improve themselves (lose weight, get better attitudes, stop playing games) in order to have a better chance to get a quality male” – then this screed might be a touch inflammatory to those of us on the double-X side of the fence.

(Gawd, I kinda hope it upsets a lot of you on the XY side of the fence, too.)

(side note: I find the “stop playing games” part wildly amusing and ironic.)

I mean, where to start, exactly? With the contempt he shows women – especially women who don’t conform to his vision of beauty?

(Because what’s the point of women, really, if we aren’t pretty, thin, heterosexual, docile and infected with the disease-to-please?)

Nah. That’s not really unique to a pick-up artist. That’s our society, writ large.

(I think this is why it takes women thirty-five years to even start to unlearn this stuff. Because it is everywhere.)

Let’s talk about the intent of a pick up artist (or at least, the intent of this particular site’s authors):

The overall point is that, outside of arrangements like marriage, only 20% of the men lay 80% of the women.  You either want to be in the that 20% or not.  And, unless you’re already a natural at it, you’ll need to learn what it takes to get you there.  That’s what this web site is for.

1. I would really like to see the research supporting this fact.

2. So now we’ve got two things. Blatant misogyny, idealization of a narrow sliver of female humanity, and a naked urge to have sex with as many of the pre-approved (HBs or “hot babes” or “hot bitches”), socially-acceptable ones as possible.

3. Again, this is not new or unique to the Seduction Community.

So although all of this upsets me wildly, I’ve written lots of papers pulling apart the dynamic of sexism and this is just part-and-parcel of living in our society. It is ugly. I hate it. But isn’t novel and these guys didn’t invent it.

What these guys did invent – or at least name and practice and preach – is The Neg:

Imagine a guy comes along and says “nice nails. are they real??” she will have to concede, “no. acrylic.” and he says (like he didn’t notice it was a put down “oh. (pause) well I guess they still LOOK good.” Then he turns his back to her. What does this do to her? Well, he didn’t treat her like shit and INSULT her. He complimented her but the result was to target her insecurity…

You didn’t take her shit. OH, and when she asked you for a beer, you said, ” no. I don’t buy girls drinks. but you can buy ME one”. You are qualifying HER now. If she buys you a beer, this is symbolic of her RESPECT for you…

A NEG HIT is a qualifier. The girl is FAILING to meet your high expectations. It’s not an insult, just a judgement call on your part. The better looking the girl, the more aggressive you must be with using neg hits. A 10 can get 3 neg hits up front, while an 8 only 1 or 2 over a longer time. You CAN go overboard if they think you are BETTER than them You can drop the self-esteem right from under them (just like most 10s do to guys) and this isn’t good. You have to get as close to the breaking point as you can without crossing the line. Once you have gotten her RIGHT THERE, you can start appreciating things about her (NEVER LOOKS). There is a mutual RESPECT now. Something most guys never get from the girl.

This is how you remove a bitch shield. 3 neg hits oughta do it within 2 or 3 minutes of neutral chat. Once it is down, you can from a mutual respect place, seduce her.”

(That is from Mystery – the dude with the show on VH1.)

So this is the kind of advice that makes me deeply unhappy with the world we live in. Insulting a person – sort of – until they respect you. Making her insecure so she’ll want to prove her worth, sexually.

But you know what? Putting myself in the shoes of both the man and the woman, here, I’d say this probably works.

know it works. Let’s say we call the ‘neg’ a backhanded compliment.  I don’t hang out in bars or have acrylic nails, so this particular scenario might be about ten years too young for me, but BIG SECRET: I actually love that kind of stuff. I like a guy who is cocky but funny and not afraid to say something unexpected – and who doesn’t make me feel responsible for entertaining him by looking at me with puppy dog eyes while his tail wags expectantly.

I like self-possessed. I like witty. I like a guy who doesn’t kiss my ass unless asked. I don’t, however, like disrespect or a deliberate attempt to structure our interactions so that you’ve got the upper hand and I’ve got to earn your attention.

(I will note, however, that while this stuff might work, initially, these techniques are kind of like a resume and an interview in a job search: they get you in the door. Once you’ve got the job, and want to keep the job, and do the job well, an entirely different set of skills are required.)

All of this is to say that I, personally, like “cocky but funny” – and cocky and funny is pretty much the Pick Up Artist’s playbook.

Now, since I realized this and read up on it, whenever I encounter a guy running cocky-but-funny on me, I wonder about it.

I once asked a guy – a witty Brit – who had cocky-but-funny all nailed down, if he’d ever heard of the seduction community or read The Game.

Looooooooooooooooooooong pause.

“No.”

Yeahfuckingright.

~

Now, to be fair, what I just quoted is the absolute worst of the community, but it is also what ranks highest in searches (thanks, Google!) and so, presumably, is some of the most popular, “authoritative” (and we all know my issues with that word) stuff available.

Still – as Brad Bollenbach wrote about his experience with pick up (he’s not okay with the rampant misogyny in the community, either) - in the Seduction Community, as in pretty much every sphere of life, Sturgeon’s Law applies: 90% of everything is crap.

The mainstream pick up community is pretty fucking awful, in my opinion. But if you dig in, you’ll find all kinds of examples of people engaging with human interaction, psychology, dating, and ethics in really interesting, intelligent and soulful ways.

~

So, when I started learning about The Seduction Community and techniques practised by pick up artists, I had pretty strong and intensely negative feelings about it.

Truth is, though, I recognized these techniques.

I have looked at a man, smiled wide, and said, “That shirt looks awful. I don’t like it at all. You don’t look hot and it doesn’t make me want to kiss you. Not even a little bit.” And then kissed him.

I say things just to surprise. I absolutely wear hot shoes or big bold jewelry and people do talk to me about it and that’s probably the point. I set hurdles for you to clear so it will be clear to me whether or not you’re interested in me. I understand that my appearance is telegraphing a message. I tell a story with my body language. My mission in life is to make you laugh because when you laugh, you’re comfortable, and when you’re comfortable, you like me, and of course I want you to like me. I hope you like me.

And with all of that, I’m essentially doing what PUAs teach their acolytes. I just don’t name them or think much about them. They’re instinct. For me. Because I’m a woman and a flirt.

holyshitnewsflash: PUAs are teaching men how to be attractive to women using the techniques usually employed by …women.

Is this true?

I googled it. Apparently it is common knowledge in the Seduction Community that the teachers derived their techniques by modeling women.

Implicitly, they’re acknowledging that women control the initial game.

So the techniques I’m having a reaction to – that I think are manipulative and gross and sexist and exploitative – come from women.

In the Seduction Community, men learn how to attract women by observing how women attract men and then use those same techniques on women so that men can attract women.

And women – like me – get all pissy about it and say that’s manipulative, exploitative, controlling. And dude, that’s my territory. Getoffamylawn.

You know those shells that fold inside themselves? We’ve just gone fractal.

~

Still, we can’t get away from the misogyny. In addition to the negs – which, to be fair, not all PUAs endorse – we’ve got a whole lot of talk about punishment:

Have your rules. Tell the chick – and they’re always chicks, unless they’re HBs – the rules, and punish her if she violates them. Take your attention away. Slight her. Stand her up. Drop her.

Because women don’t already have enough rules to follow or enough people telling us how to behave. Now we need some guy in a bar or a bookstore or a coffeeshop dominating us in exchange for a $4 latte and some truly high-priced male validation.

This kind of  ”punishing” the “target” – the practice and the language itself - is common to both The Seduction Community and heterosexual pornography, and the overlap, I argue, is no coincidence.

Ask Sam Benjamin.

Sam Benjamin is a self-professed “Ivy League Pornographer” who wrote a piece called “Shoot: The Education and Evolution of a Pornographer“ in which he compared his experiences shooting mainstream heterosexual porn and gay porn.

Sam Benjamin is heterosexual; shooting heterosexual porn turned him on; but he had to quit because it was just so damn awful. Despite his best intentions, the heterosexual porn he was shooting was about punishing women. So he quit.

And then he was broke and asked for his job back. It had been filled but there was a spot available filming gay porn – was he interested? Initially, he was hesitant and even a little intimidated, but to his surprise he found that

gay porn was so goddamn simple that it approached a type of Zen beauty. I mean, this was guys taking on guys, in every shape and form imaginable, for the most part in good humor and absent-minded lust. They may have stuck to roles of “tops” and “bottoms,” but in the dressing room, we all seemed equals, on the same team…

… I’m saddened to think that the only path to the absence of hostility and anger in porn is to remove women from the equation. It doesn’t bode well, especially for a world in which men and women must continue to co-exist. In the first half of my porn-life, I lived inside of a world where it almost seemed like an entire gender was being denigrated, like that was the whole point—where very young women were choked and slapped and written-on with lipstick, simply for the crime, it seemed, of being a woman. You should have slept with me, seemed to be the unspoken message. Now see what I have to do to you.

I think Sam Benjamin is on to something.

You should have slept with me, seemed to be the unspoken message. Now see what I have to do to you.

Let’s think about this: according to Neil Strauss, as many as 70% of the guys who start studying the art of pick up are just geeky guys who aren’t very comfortable – or successful – with women. They’re not getting laid and they’re not happy.

You should have slept with me, seemed to be the unspoken message. Now see what I have to do to you.

I’m repeating this point for a reason. Maybe some of the misogyny in the pick up community is the result of a whole lot of guys working through their collective resentment that pussy isn’t tap-water.

You know what?

Women do this too.

We get frustrated when we’re not getting what we want. I know you know what you’ll hear on this party-line: There are no available heterosexual men. They’re all taken, married, gay, dating teenagers, or playing Warcraft. Or, if you do manage to find one to date, he’s probably an inexpressive, emotionally-repressed, sex-crazed, commitment-phobe who not-so-secretly wishes you looked more like Megan Fox and less like, well, you. They all do.

It is the drumbeat that underlines girls-night-out conversations.

But that’s not sisterhood. That’s misandry.

~

Dirty secret: We – the sistas – and I’m talking ONLY about myself and my real-life friends and sisters here, not The Feminist Community with which I express my affiliation but cannot Speak For – often construct our “independence” and don’t-need-a-man-ness (even though most of us are married and are now, or have been, completely financially dependant on a man) and divine feminine connection with each other on the back of man-bashing.

No, you’re awesome, honey. He just can’t see it. He’s a bastard. They all are. That’s why we’re so awesome. Thank goodness for girlfriends. Otherwise we’d have to rely on them.

~

If that kind of talk is a two-martini girl-bonding Friday night for me, why am I so shocked when I encounter misogyny in the Seduction Community?

This kind of misogny and misandry – the kind that collapses The Other into a caricature – is a burlesque. We parody and mock The Other in order to defuse the power they have over us.

Because sexuality, and sexual love, is primal, spiritual stuff. It is dangerous and divine. We can harm or heal each other, and most often, we do both.

So, in heterosexual, binary-gendered, conventional world – which is to say, my suburban milieu – groups of heterosexual women get together to bitch about men so that men are less threatening to our hearts and heads. Groups of men get together to figure out a way to manage women so that women are less threatening to their heads and hearts. And then we all go home and drunk-dial our exes.

~

In a way, what the Seduction Community is doing is no different than say, The Cult of Sex and The City. (And it is a cult. I believe, I believe.) We’re all trying to understand each other while getting the upper hand so we can get what we want and not get hurt.

So maybe the dehumanizing – the misogyny and misandry – by both camps of both camps is the same thing. Maybe.

Or maybe it is not the same thing.

Misogyny scares me and for good reason. It has very real social consequences: rape, assault, abuse, inegalitarian and spirit-snuffing romantic entanglements, The Beauty Myth, and $0.72 on the dollar.

So a group of men getting together to scheme about how to make women do their bidding while referring to them as targets and valuing them exclusively in terms of their attractiveness: yeah, that’s pretty fucking terrifying.

Still, there are two parts here:

The social. The Seduction Community both reflects and reifies the misogyny of our culture. In other words, that shit comes from somewhere. The Seduction Community’s (sometimes) fucked-up attitudes about women come from our society’s fucked-up attitudes about women.

The personal. Some smart but socially awkward guys just want to find a way to connect with women, get confident in their company, and maybe even get a girlfriend. And that – well that’s pretty damn sweet.

________________

this 2,700+ words is about a third of the essay. There’s way more and I’ll post the rest this week.

And please play nice in the comments. Pretend we’re all at a raucous, liquored-up dinner party at my house. It is fun, and we can get real and we can get tawdry, but we’re not talking shit about each other. Criticism? Yes, absolutely, and YES PLEASE. Hating? No.

Let’s go.

xo.

East Vanity Parlour. I’m a-coming, ladies.

Do I bring my own gin? ‘Cuz I will.

seeming contradictions in feminism are in fact intermingling on the ground…thank goodness

In my last piece, I wrote:

Want to be able to discuss violence against women and the importance of claiming your sexual pleasure without setting up permanent camp – or throwing rocks – at either end of the philosophical spectrum.

In the comments, Dawn Haney made a terrific point:

I’ve been in the violence against women “camp”, working at rape crisis centers for years. And I would say that nearly all of us (at least those in the under-40 crowd), are doing that work because we are pro-sex, because we want to be able to claim the full range of our sexuality, because we don’t want to walk around in fear that we’ll be punished or violated for embracing sex. So while the manifesta is waiting to be written, these camps are already intermingling on the ground.

Dawn’s point is an important corrective: I took Betty Dodson’s critique of Eve Ensler and used it as emblematic of a contradiction within feminism that possibly exists more in theory than in reality.

Dawn’s experience, when I reflect on it, echoes my own. A long time ago, and for a very brief time, I volunteered as a rape crisis counselor – and the people working together in that collective were absolutely pro-sex. So there is no disconnect or contradiction between

  • acknowledging oppression, supporting women experiencing violence and campaigning against it, and
  • embracing sexual power and pleasure.

In fact, in Marilla’s piece on feminism and rough sex at Where is Your Line, Heather Corinna (of  Scarleteen) writes:

I think it’s important to remember that at the heart of feminism is the goal for women to be able to have enjoyment of our lives and the freedom to make our own choices and take our own journeys. We all also get to have our own ideas and opinions about what feminism is or should be: not all feminist women agree that this thing or that is or is not feminist. It’s a movement made of people, and people vary and also adjust our ideas, and thus, the movement itself, as we all go through our own processes.

yes. exactly.

Cleavages: The Lines That Shape Us.

Pro-sex yet leary and weary of casual sex because I know myself and it doesn’t often work for me (it is boring and I’m an emotional creature and so I attach). Feminist but worried about the anti-porn, women-as-victims structure of some feminisms. Worried about critiquing anti-porn feminisms because not entirely comfortable with the way women are treated and portrayed in mainstream heterosexual porn. Admire Eve Ensler and Betty Dodson all at the same time. Wish that activism against human trafficking didn’t so often slide into anti-sex-work arguments that condescend to adult woman who claim choice and power. Think, though, that Catherine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin have some seriously pointy points. Also think that reacting against “there is no consent when there is oppression” line of thinking forces pro-sex and sex-worker activists into extreme positions where they have to downplay the dark sides of the industry and play up the cupcakes, cash and orgasms. Want to be able to discuss violence against women and the importance of claiming your sexual pleasure without setting up permanent camp – or throwing rocks – at either end of the philosophical spectrum. Maybe I’m a ideological nomad. Have recently started to appreciate Camille Paglia and think that Katie Roiphe is right (which pisses me off  greatly) and that sometimes feminists don’t like kids. Neither does our society. It isn’t terribly unique but it isn’t okay, either. Love my kids but am not defined by motherhood and am not that worried about fucking up because I have faith in my children. Don’t want to be judged by my looks but totally want to be celebrated for my looks.  And then there is the knowledge that this looks game is a racist one, too, and I could go my entire life without ever confronting it. Except I must confront it. Tired of marketers slapping a pink ribbon on products and think they’re talking to women while also tired of the boy language that pervades the blog-o-sphere (and, ummm, the world). Still, really do think that a lot of men are getting screwed over by The Man. Also suspect that some apprentice pick up artists are studying women because they want to improve their social skills and find a nice girlfriend (mostly because one smart, warm-hearted, socially-adept guy told me so) but then there are the misogynists. Fuck them (don’t). Want to use vivid, compelling, physical language. Don’t want to reinforce  social stigmas and straight-up discrimination by insinuating that to be blind, deaf, dumb or lame is an awful, invalidating state of being. Wild about theory but worry that we beat each other about the head and shoulders with a fist full of it. Wish that people would be nicer to each other and think a little harder and own the gaps between what we wish for and where we are.

Newsflash: Pisces Are Slippery Fish. Maybe.

R: Have you read my book yet?

K: No

R: Why not?

K: Because I’m in Overwhelm. I’m so busy writing for other people that my own work isn’t getting done.

(Didja notice?)

Blah blah blah professional, pretentious talk. He’s an artist, I’m a writer and we indulged in some mutual angst about creative demands and the hell of self promotion. I’m over the hell of self promotion. I like it, now. Hell is toasty and I heart warm.

R: So what’s up with your personal life?Any new dudes on the horizon?

K: There are always new dudes on the horizon. What about you? What’s up with you? Are you getting married, yet?

(Lots of personal details that are not mine to share. In essence, crossroads. )

K: I’m a bit taken aback – you’re talking about this crossroads without a lot of emotion. You love this woman; you’re thinking about marrying her; you want to have a family, and yet when you talk about the decisions that need to be made, you’re not anguished by the prospect of that not happening. But I know you; you’re a passionate, emotional guy. I don’t get the disconnect. What’s that all about?

R: I’m talking about it in a really dispassionate way, because loving someone and choosing to have a life and family together are different things.  If we have a life together, I want it to work for us. I don’t want a dysfunctional family. My requirements are higher than those of most guys. Most guys would just be happy if their wife looks good and doesn’t bug them too much on Sundays when they’re watching sports.

K: What do you want?

R: I want someone who is independant, pursuing a passion – it doesn’t matter what it is, it could be anything but it has to be something – and who likes to communicate, and communicate effectively, on a deep and intense level, and can say, hey what you did pissed me off, can you cut that out, without it disintegrating into a soul-assassinating argument where the relationship is on the line.

K: Wow, that’s my list too. We have so much in common.

R: Umm…maybe that’s because we’re born on the same day.

K: I don’t know about that. I’m a little woo and not very woo all at the same time.

R: What is woo?

K: Woo is kind of a derogatory term for all things intuitive, mystical, and unsubstantiated by empirical science. And although I’m inherently an intuitive, spiritual, lovey-dovey, angels-and-unicorns-and-cupcakes chick, I’m also a product of western culture. I like me some MDs, statistics and scientific inquiry. I like proof. So although I love the metaphors and the use of astrology as a lens into self-reflection, I’m a bit skeptical about it. All that is to say, I don’t really know what it means to be a Pisces.

R: Pisces are imaginative, intuitive, intense, passionate, sensual and live in the realm of fantasy.

K: Oh, so Pisces are slutty.

R: We’re generous.

Operation Secret Valentine, The (FREE) E-book. No e-mail addy required.


Happy Valentine’s Day, lovers.

As promised, I’ve got a little something for you.

A teeny-tiny e-book of  secret and wildly not-secret valentines – all contributed by the talented, gorgeous, passionate Cleavage community members. (On average, we’re way fabulous.)

I know you want it…and it is free, of course. Just click on the link below and you’ll get straight to it. No e-mail required.

(Of course, if you want to join my merry band of subscribers, I’d love to have you. There’s a sign up box in the sidebar.)

Operation Secret Valentine, anthology edited with lotsa love by Kelly Diels of Cleavage

enjoy…

xoxo,

Kelly

PS – If I’ve missed your valentine, please tell me. I’ll get it added in ASAP. kelly @ kellydiels dot com.

<3

whaddayawant from me? with love.

I’ve been dropping hints all over the place. I’m going to start selling things, soon. I have ideas for products and services and *hands in the air* I’m writing a book with Danielle LaPorte.

But I haven’t asked you what you need.

Inspired by Nathan Hangen’s straight talk about selling (“the good idea fairy doesn’t pay jack shit“), I’m looking for advice about what to sell on my blog from the experts of this blog.

you.

dearest Reader, what do you want from me? What do you need? What would you be overjoyed to buy? What do you want me to create?

trust me – I’m listening. Hard, and with my heart.

Start with A Kiss and End With A Win.

From The Kissing Lessons

Let’s start sweet. Like, say, with kisses.

The Kissing Lessons is as sweet and smart as it gets. What else would you expect from “a heady academic with a penchant for the feminine divine”?

That’s Ali, and she’s the writer kissing us with bits of prose and poetry-masquerading-as-prose and clear thinking about desire and love.

Remember my piece where I insisted that love is an ashram? That was inspired by her piece called “What’s Love Got to Do with It“. And that’s how  you know she’s good people: she quotes Tina Turner. Just like someone else I know.

There’s more. Whenever I get tired of the rigid polarity of gender, heterosexuality and prescription relationships (which is always), I think about Ali’s question-answered-with-a-metaphor:

What would happen if we looked at relationships through the lens of the jazz-improv model? Something along the lines where one starts playing and the other plays back, and visa versa, in some randomly, off-the-cuff, yet seemingly harmonious way towards composition.

And, perhaps, through this lens, there is a different view of the original note that started it all: “When love hits, just go with it.”

And then, as the song goes, I don’t feel so bad.

(Do you know that song? From The Sound of Music? “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens…” It is riffed on here, conceptually, invitationally, for Cindy Gallop – oh god how I want her life and not just because she sleeps with younger men – by Stephan Boubil and Roderick Angle.)

And *enthusiastic self-promotion alert* Ali  wrote a pretty fine poem for my Operation Secret Valentine, too.

To The Spirit of Love and Resistance Behind St. Valentine’s Day

Black Artemis is the pen name of Sofía Quintero who writes novels, a blog called Black Artemis: Beyond Keepin’ It Real, and calls herself an “Ivy League homegirl, cultural activist, and urban goddess”.

adore women who don’t play small.

And who think big:

As a heterosexual woman who has the right to marry (and intends to one day soon), a person who is committed to social justice, a spiritual being that understands that the opposite of love is not hate but fear, and a heterosexual citizen who owes a great deal of debt to LGBTQ activists for my sexual liberation, February 14 holds new meaning for me….

…So I send cards, blow kisses (real and virtual), call my loved ones, and continue to fight the good fight. To me, reclaiming this day and making it my own — my socialist, feminist, spiritual-but-not-religious own — is an act of love for myself, my family, my friends, my, community, my ancestors, my comrades.

It is also an act of resistance.

Now that is my kind of Valentine’s Day. I’m smitten.

Love talk is radical.

To Operation Secret Valentine

Now send me your radically delicious love letters. They don’t even have to be for me (though I don’t mind, at all), just for Operation Secret Valentine.

We’re running out of time, lovers. Create! Send! Sign up!

To Modern Love. I mean Modern Hippie. Same Dif.

All right. You’ve poured your expansive heart out and you’re spent. If you’re tired of giving, how about a little getting?

Jaszy McAllister can help you out. Her online magazine, Modern Hippie, is an “online resource promoting healthy living, peaceful existence, environmental sustainability, and other eco-stuff.”

Love that: eco-stuff. My girl.

Jaszy thinks, in fact, that you – yes you! you with the good hygiene, corporate job and house in the suburbs! – are a little more hippie than you think. Why? Because a modern hippie is about conscious living and clear thinking.

Okay. I surrender. I’m a modern hippie. But if you make me go to yoga, it is over.

Back to my point: you’re all gived-out and you need a little getting. Jaszy has free stuff to give away. Lots of it. Go ask her.

To Storyfix

And speaking of giving, Larry Brooks of Storyfix gave me a copy of his most recent book, “The Three Dimensions of Character: Going Deep and Wide To Develop Compelling Heroes and Villains which means in addition to being a hot-shit writer, he’s pretty much psychic because I’ve been thinking that I need to hone my craft. I’ve got voice, but my craft needs practice. I need to work on the storytelling fundamentals. Like plot, backstory, character development. Like finishing something I start. Ahem.

So thank you, Larry for this book, which is of course excellent and useful and means I have a lot of work to do, damn you.

(Also: I would have bought it if you didn’t give it to me. Lost opportunity, Larry. Methinky you’re not such a hot businessman. Good at writing, crap at business.

Oh my goodness, it is like you’re me, only a more masculine, ruggedly handsome me who is also a “critically-acclaimed bestselling author of four psychological thrillers“. Ok, not me at all. Damn you again.)

To Redemption Via Bad Deacon Design and His Relentless Quest

Larry Brooks wants me to hone my craft – the book was a hint – and I know exactly what that takes. A lot of mofo work, every day.

Deacon also knows a little something about honing his craft. Last May he embarked on some sort of sadomasochistic bet with with his friend and WordPress guru, Dave Doolin. Deacon would finish 101 woodblock prints before Dave created 101 wildly useful articles about wordpress.

I mean, how hard could either task be? As Deacon writes,

I thought I would be finished in a month or two, but I seemed to underestimate the amount of work this would take. A little over 8 months after I started, on Superbowl Sunday, I printed the last run on the last print, right around midnight.

This project was about 10 times larger than I thought it would be.

Dave won the bet many months ago, and got a thriving website as a prize.

I’ve got ink-stained hands and a stack of artwork.

I’m glad they tried to kill each other made this bet because now, thanks to the impetus to create and the internet, I’ve got three new prints and two new friends. I’m convinced that the world is a better place for this wager although gambling is a sin. Deacon is a very bad deacon, indeed.

What’s next for Bad Deacon? Is he taking a break? No. Not even.

Instead, he’s started a new project in a new direction (figurative rather than graphic), wrote a post about how to frame his prints (THANK YOU), and a list of 101 things he learned from making 101 woodblock prints.

There is a huge lesson there: when you’re in the habit of fierce creation, keep going. Add a little more and do a little more. Ride momentum. Burn it up. Keep emitting, smoldering, producing, driving.

Let’s hear it for irrational drive.

To Irrational Drive and No More Nine-To-Five

The drive through the school zone is an exercise in irrationality.

Make that confusion and terror.

Today was the first regular school day that I have ever taken my daughter to school. Normally, thanks to a hellish commute, I drop her off at daycare at 7am and they do the rest.

Today, I drove her to school and was gobsmacked and scared. The SUVs. The crowds. The complete unavailability of parking within a four block radius.

Like, what the hell? Is Taye Diggs here today? Who are all of these people and why do none of their kids walk to school?

My kid, by the way, doesn’t walk to school because it is way too far.

Maybe that’s the issue. Because it is a frenchalicious school, it doesn’t have a neighbourhood requirement attached to it.  So maybe everyone has to drive their kid and that is why the school parking lot looks like a red carpet gone wrong. Horribly wrong. Yoga pants wrong.

Is Tim Horton’s a french immersion school, too? Because that parking lot was another morning exercise in terror.

This working-from-home thing is considerably more frightening than I anticipated.

And therein lies the good scary news: I could take my daughter to school today because I’m no longer a nine-to-fiver.

I quit my job. Sort of. I tried to quit but we ended up working out a win-win wherein I keep doing some things for them and they keep paying me some money.

But mostly, I’m writing. Writing a book with Danielle LaPorte. Writing for magazines. (None of the magazines know it yet, though, but no matter.) Writing for cool people I adore (that’s pretty much my screening device: is it possible that I will adore you? If so, let’s go!) who have heartful, heartfelt, imaginative businesses. Telling their stories.

Storytelling. There will be more on that, soon. I’m launching a blog for a non-profit. We’ll do some community storytelling. It will be rich and deep and I can’t wait.

Ooooh, juicy update on my Alexa story. On January 14 (three weeks ago), I wrote a piece on ProBlogger about how to increase your Alexa ranking. Then, my Alexa rank was 173,556.

Today, I broke into Alexa’s 100,000. See:

And Ending in a Small, Meaningful Victory

And, finally, importantly, that misogynist facebook page that you, me and grrrl-o-sphere was all het up about?

down, baby, down.

_____________

PS if you know any retirees in Coquitlam, Burnaby or New Westminster who volunteer, please tell them I want to talk to them and tell their stories. kelly @ kellydiels dot com or @KellyDiels on Twitter.

PPS Shout to Dave Doolin. The structure of his Week-in-Review posts inspired this round-up.

PPPS All of you light my fire. Thank you so much for joining your voices together. Your comments made me cry the good cry, repeatedly, today.

Violence. The Dark Side of Sex and Power

I am The Official Cheerleader – or would be, if I didn’t have a HUGE MOFO PROBLEM with cheerleading as an avocation, thanks TLC for that brain trauma – for love’n'sex.

I wax semi-lyrical. I expound. I froth at the mouth. I’m wildly enthusiastic. I declared Valentine’s Day my personal Christmas and insisted that you do the same.

Possibly I seem a little naive. Possibly, when I write happily about happy sex, I’m leaving a lot of unhappiness out.

Figleaf, the author of Real Adult Sex pointed that out:

I have to admit little winces here and caveats there — oooh, it’s not so wonderful for everyone. Oooh, he could get a disease. Ooh, she could get a reputation. Ooooh, they could be exploiting each other. Oooh, the first time isn’t so great for lots of people. You know what I mean, right? You read something as obliviously joyous as that and you find yourself thinking “that’s wonderful, hon, and sure it’s like that for some people but…”

He is, of course, right. I didn’t do that in that particular essay, and I don’t do that a whole lot here, either. I do it sometimes. But not often.

It is because I’m both resilient and an optimist. Hope just won’t leave my ass alone. I walk in love, and for the most part, I trade in love almost entirely. Every once in a while I encounter someone who is out-and-out dangerous, but not often.

That wasn’t always the case.

I mentioned it really briefly, before. From the age of 4(ish) to 11(ish), a family member – NOT my parents – molested me, and, as it unsurprisingly turns out, other girls and women in our family, too.

***

With him, always, even as an adult, entrances and exits required strategy. Whenever hugs were required, I tried to make myself scarce or structure an embrace like a robot – arms straight out, hands hopefully landing palms out on his chest, to keep as much distance between our bodies as possible.

When I was twenty-one, and engaged, the slow simmer-of-secrecy boiled over. I did not want this person – this abuser – to be at my wedding. I did not want to have to dodge his ever-searching lips on a day dedicated to happy kisses.

I didn’t want to have to covertly defend myself at my own celebration. But how could I not invite him? It would be a HUGE issue.

I wrestled with it. I cried over it. I started having nightmares where I was breastfeeding a baby who turned into tiger and even right now, in this minute, I can still feel the puncture wounds of my truth-talking dreams.

Still, I tried mightily to talk myself out of my instincts. After all, I’d been carrying and covering up his shame for 17 years – what did one more night matter?

And then we had a family dinner at a restaurant and we were reciting family legends. Everyone was laughing about how stubborn and wilful his now-adult daughter had been her whole life.

It all started when she was four, and dug her way under the backyard fence and took the bus downtown. A couple of police officers noticed her wandering, took her to the police station, and gave her an ice cream. She did this a couple more times.

Hilarious! She was so determined, even then! She just wanted the ice cream!

Laughter all around the table.

I turned to her and said, why would a four year old dig her way under a fence?

She said, evenly, I had my reasons.

More laughter.

I sat there, outwardly calm while inwardly I surrendered. I surrendered to my anger. To my overwhelming rage. To a heels-dug-in refusal to be complicit or to accept his burden as my own.

I told my parents. They were devastated. They blamed themselves. They wondered why I thought they wouldn’t have protected me.

I always knew they would protect me. I was protecting them. I was trying, in my child-knows-best way, to protect my family.

So I know. I really know. I know on an almost cellular, instinctual level how sex can be a weapon and an instrument of damage. I carry that blood-level knowledge.

***

After I graduated with my BA, I went to Taiwan to teach English at a kindergarten. Teachers taught in pairs. On the day of my arrival, I met my future co-teacher and we went to lunch to get to know each other.

He said things that seemed innocent but rang all the wrong bells. He kept saying, I just love kids. Just love ‘em. Prefer their company to adults.

Nothing wrong with that, right?

It just didn’t sit right with me. My pedophile radar was signalling.

I went to the school administrator directly, after lunch, but what could I say? That guy creeps me out? I don’t think you should let him around kids? Based on what? You can’t make those kinds of accusations without some evidence.

Instead I said that I didn’t want to work with him and insisted they pair me with someone else.

A couple of weeks later, a group of teachers were taking the bus to Taipei. He was commenting on the barber shops: He was so surprised! The hair salons with a barber pole in front of them aren’t selling hairstyles, they’re selling sex! They’re brothels fronting as barber shops!

And he was making some kind of comment, just aghast, of course, about how he had heard that there were places like that, here, in Taiwan, where children were on the menu. And my my flash of a thought was this: he’s probing to see who is of like mind. Who is like him. Who is here to prey on children.

A month later, a mother and father came to the school and told the administration that he had been touching their four year old daughter.

That night, he was on a plane home. There was no investigation, no police, no alarms sounded. Another teacher, a retired police officer, called his former precinct and gave them the teacher’s name, but there was nothing, it seemed, any of us could do except talk about all the warning signs each of us had seen.

***

A lot of times, there seems like there is just not much to do. A few very damaged people cause very profound damage.  They assault and beat and rape and kill people and after the fact we see the signs that were there all along.

And sometimes we let things slide because they seem inconsequential.

Like a Facebook page. A Facebook page called:

Killing Your Hooker So You Don’t Have To Pay Her

As I’m writing, this page has 17,797 fans who think it is amusing to joke about torturing and killing sex workers. To say that “hookers aren’t human”. To say to the women complaining: we’re not really talking about killing women, because hookers aren’t human therefore they’re not women either. And oh yeah, and can’t you all take a joke? This is funny.

Maybe it is a stretch to connect the sexual abuse I endured as a child to a Facebook page, but I don’t think so. A culture that creates people who think murdering women is funny is the same culture that produces adults who prey on children. It is a culture of predation. It is a rape culture, a culture that requires denial, and one that tells us to ignore our instincts so we aren’t moved to action.

Just like I did in Taiwan.

And so, if you’re feeling moved to action, please report this page to Facebook – the same Facebook that’s in an awful hurry to censor images of breastfeeding but hasn’t taken any action on this page – and ask that they take it down.

There’s an argument here about censorship, sure. But at this exact moment in time, I don’t care about censorship. I care about people. I care about sex workers,  who do a very dangerous job, and deserve to be safe. Always. Unreservedly.

love letter to the internet

Love is the realization that another person exists even when they are not in your presence. We are this: inevitable. Parallel lines meet and merge and curve. Infinitely.

We shall bury the notion  - maybe we already have – that you are a single line or that your life is a lone trajectory. One storied arc.

I am many messy storylines, all at once.

We are parallel lines. We intersect. We are points. We are communities of dots and dot coms. We are circles. We are stars. We are constellations. Shine.