Grinds My Gears

I am guilty of these things. Which is why I rewrote my ms.

(In no particular order.)

Dear Talented, Humble Yet Beautiful FMC:

1. You–gorgeous, flawless, too-cute-to-get-angry-at FMC: “I know So-and-So and my gorgeous kickass soul mate told me not to go do that dangerous thing but–“

Stop. First, if ya have to tell me they told you, you’re making the assumption I didn’t get it when they told you a dozen times. Second, I feel like you’re an idiot/child because someone had to tell you not to do those things. Third, if you listened to them until now/didn’t discuss it then, I think you’re incapable of dealing with the consequences of breaking the rules.

Seriously.

Yeah, sometimes your boyfriend and some other kind person tells you to stay away from something but if they have a reason (it’s dangerous,) you better have a damn good reason to break the rules/promise.

OR you look stupid/suicidal and need attention.

Examples of defendable reasons to ignore the warning:
–you’re tricked into the haunted house because you thought one of your loved ones was dragged in
–the shady guy you’re forbidden near has information on your now missing mentor

You better have a damn good reason, b*tch. Or I’m gonna punch the words that make you when you giggle and say ‘whoops.’

2. Similar to 1. If you’re a former damsel-in-distress who wants to prove herself, you better have something going for you.

–Newly found fencing talent.
–sprinting in high heels.
–Or you can shoot toxic snot out of your left nostril.

I don’t care.

If you don’t know how to do shit, you shouldn’t run off to save the world. You’ll endanger other people and yourself.

And if you’re not any better than damsel-in-distress (than you’re not much of a *former*, are ya?) at least have a reason.

Like your brother will be slaughtered if you don’t enter the arena to fight off the two-headed lion.

And in that case, please learn some tricks quickly. (Like how to climb walls or how to gauge eyes out while you’re being devoured. Don’t just sit and cry.)

3. How many times have you been threatened with rape?

Stop going shady places by yourself, let your parents meet your creepy date, stop purposefully showing off your boobs so you’ll *finally* get attention.

How many times do you need to be threatened before you stop and think ‘wow, I should really buy pepper spray and avoid the people who continuously threaten me with rape’?

Why do you just shrug this shit off? It ain’t cool!

(And, authors, this isn’t a way to show your MC is pretty. Nor is it romantic when her love interest saves her. It’s a horrible experience.)

4. Your best friend.

Please stop comparing your friend to a puppy. Sometimes it comes off as a cheap description, sometimes…well, doesn’t your friend have better things to do than be your bitch?

Also, your friend is loyal. How about you? How about when your friend warns you about that guy you’re scared/attracted to?

You’re not loyal and you’re just friends with that smart person because you need someone to keep you company while Creeper Boy is out or you need someone to cry to.

5. Your fighting skills.

I could handle that you didn’t know how to fight. Really, I could but you can’t even hit someone with a bat, carry pepper spray, use that claw in the face instinct most of us have?

You want to be saved but when you stand there and take it, I wish Lover Boy was knocked out. I’d really want you dead.

But no. This isn’t even the worst you do.

You get training. Lover Boy trained you.

You could probably take on twenty-five assassins. I’m starting to like you. Not because you kill people but because you finally contribute instead of hold your peeps back.

But then…you don’t fight. You still don’t do crap for yourself even though you supposedly can.

I’d like to hold your head underwater.

6. Your love interest

He’s bad. You know he is. While he’s posing against your locker, blocking out your best friend, he tells you in a deep, dark, brooding voice, “Angel Face, I’m bad. Bad to the bone. Speaking of bone–“

I’ll stop the flashback right there.

He’s uber hunky yet you never hear about him in gym. He runs fast, of course, and let’s admit. He’s a total flirt. He has dem bitches lining up around his desk while he smolders you with his eyes, professing eternal love and protection.

Yeah. Hi. Wait, wait. Come back. Leave him alone! Get back here. Look at me. In the eye. He just said he’s dangerous. Yeah, maybe you  get a thrill and rush considering putting your life in danger and yeah, maybe he’s going to protect you but he’s going to protect you from *himself*.

Yeah. That shouldn’t be a thing.

Yes, yes. It’s romantic and tragic and you can change his blood sucking ways. You can stop him from morphing into the Pishtaku and hunting down your fellow natives. Uh-huh. Yeah, with all those skills you have?

Mm. Find yourself a normal human boy who won’t impregnate you like Alien vs. Predator. ‘Kay? Your children will thank you if they don’t grow a pig nose and webbed feet.

GAAHHHH!

~

I will be adding to this little rant post, but what gets you freaking out with a character? 🙂

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Why You Got Passed On and Why It Isn’t Personal

Thanksgiving is a bitch for Americans. Tables covered with large dishes of sides. Daylong snacking we sometimes call fasting. (Or for the less hypocritical of us, training for the big game.)
I, for one, never can escape food coma. No matter how very little I ate, I gain forty pounds in one sitting.
Afterwards, all food looks like a pervert sixty-year-old winking across the room. Always hitting on me, always making me swear off dating and humanity.
It doesn’t mean Thanksgiving din-din was bad. I was–wait for it–satisfied.
Holy cow!
And at that moment, I am amazingly satisfied. So satisfied, I can’t think of that smiling salad across the room or its slow cousin tiramosu.
It’s the same with almost everything. Ever heard the saying: too much of a good thing…?
So, sometimes, when someone says they won’t CP for you, review your movie, critic your painting, promote your blog, or say yes to your query, it really isn’t you.
It’s the timing.
Best thing you can do is make your work the best.
Food and art comas don’t last forever.
Don’t take it to heart.

Of Aprons and Mathematics

Deep breaths.

*looks up, stares into your soul*

What’s wrong with you?

No, but seriously. Take the time and list your faults.

You played with your teeth so much as a child that one’s leaning in front of the other, photobombing it. You’re deadly afraid of spiders. I mean, to the point of crashing your car so it may not live.

You love a boy more than you love yourself.

What the HELL is wrong with society? What is wrong with our species?

What the fuck does “strong female” even fucking mean? Fuck.

Can you tell I’m mad? I am beyond mad. I am another rant away from evaluation for meds.

What does “strong female” even mean? Half of you don’t know yet no one thinks of asking. No one stands up and demands just what the fuck the world means by strong female.

I have been over and over this in my head. I tried to see it as rising above gender roles and what not.
Admittedly, I am a sucker for the sensitive Michael Cera, kicked puppy, Peeta-needs-Katniss type, but I’ll show you true strong female when I show you the mother in me.

I have two cousins who I frequently talk to. I adore them. They’re lovely and starting off in the dating world. They both read lots of books, both saw the slut-shaming of Kristen Stewart and are both impressionable.

I don’t think one is a weak female for being afraid of the dark or for wanting to follow tradition and marry and not work.

I will be damned if anyone puts her down for that.

The other girl, slightly older, wants to be totally independent. Again, I won’t let you tell her that’s the right choice. Or, the confused version, where you tell her she’s going to be sad and alone in her old age.

My choice, my lady friends’, cousins’, sisters’, mother’s choice on what type of person she wants to be has *nothing* to do with gender. No one’s setting back women by wanting to cook and clean and nurse babies.

(Some of you seem to have forgotten that that’s biology.)

Neither are women moving one step forward by being more masculine or taking on traditional male roles.

These girls who choose to be who they want to be ARE strong. They’re brave, strong, and advancing humanity by being who they want to be so I’m asking that we stop saying strong females solely because the protagonist is the savior and not the damsel in distress.

We can’t all be heroes and the only reason gender inequalities are being talked about so much is because everyone smacks the labels around. So stop and think.

Think about your faults and what you mean by strong female characters.
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Thank you to all of you for reading! In the words of Bender (FUTURAMA):