Sandra's Social Saturday Teaser

The Sittingbulls were modest, simple people that changed what they could, and accepted what they couldn’t.  Ayita was a product of her family after all.  They had raised her to care for others more than herself.  Always see to the comfort of those around you before you seek comfort for yourself.  If you didn’t, how would anyone ever learn how to act. So it was really no surprise at how hard the Sittingbulls had taken their daughter’s secret marriage.

Ayita and Jiri had showed up in Oklahoma married, and with a 1-year-old daughter.  Grandpa Chase didn’t speak to his daughter for 2 months.  So angry was he at being denied the opportunity to congratulate the man strong enough to accept Ayita, and revel in the birth of a child that would be his only grandchild.  He questioned whether or not this man’s family had the capacity to be as accepting of diversity as he was.

Which was a fair question with all things considered. The Dalianas side of the family had come to the Sittingbull half independently wealthy from money they could trace back to the 1700’s as the world was changing and philosophers became politicians. Samath Dalianas had a knack for finance, and had more than doubled the family’s abundant wealth over the years by branching out in shipping and trade.  Sandra remembered feeling like it was much too Onassis for her, and then she found out that Aristotle was the guy grandpa had been advised by.  Smart move.  So her father’s family had maintained strong family lines in Greece with a few other members scattered in chunks over Europe, and the United States. Needless to say when one was a part of an affluent Greek family, news traveled quickly.  The twenty-eight immediate family members of the Dalianas clan had arrived together on the honeymooning couple’s hotel door in France the day after the wedding.  It made for quite a retelling during holidays when Sandra met up with her completely scattered extended family of all races gathered in some preplanned centralized location.  Always it amazed Sandra that despite her racial obscurity, her completely biased Greek half never failed to treat her just as warmly, and as inexplicably inane as any other Dalianas offspring having the misfortune of being born in what Nana Irene termed ‘this doomed generation’.

The blind affection from all halves of Sandra’s diverse family hadn’t properly prepared Sandra for some of the unsettling thoughts about race and inequality that apparently a lot of people in this world had.  She had found out early in her life, and often, that people were either intrigued or horrified by her obvious racial ambiguity.  She was always made aware that life as a mixed breed was more than just differing religions, languages, and mentalities.  Everything seemed to come back to that one question.  What are you?  Over the years Sandra had come up with a multitude of witty repartee for this line of conversation.  Her favorites have been: Human, Yoko Ono and Sammy Davis Jr.’s secret love child, and what they really found at Roswell.  Her best friend talked up her envy at every turn saying how wonderful and interesting it must be to be so unique.  True, but not much fun when you really thought about it.

In the mirror stared back at her a tan complexioned girl with unruly curly black hair, untamable eyebrows, long nosed, and thick lipped with overdeveloped breasts, obnoxious hips, and the frightening ability to put on muscle like a linebacker.  She grew hair in the oddest spots, and there really wasn’t a base that matched her skin tone.  No eye shadow that did wonders for her ever-changing eye color.  Most clothes fit her awkwardly if not skin tight or impossibly loose.  And then there were men.  Did she really want to get into men?  Oy vey.

Due to her parents’ international lifestyle, Sandra had grown up everywhere.  She had been born in Rome on a humid night in mid-July.  She had celebrated her 3rd birthday on a yacht outside of Norway.  Her fifth was on the coast of Brazil.  Her most memorable was her sweet 16 in New Zealand.  Obviously one didn’t maintain friendships very well, or relationships of a more carnal nature.  There had always been love in Sandra’s life.  Without fail grandparents, aunts and uncles, first, second and third cousins, and a few acceptations showered her with affection whether they were Greek, Cherokee, African American, or some other odd mix. Ayita and Jiri were the most loving couple she knew; fiery due to their mixed ancestry and beliefs, but just as loving none the less.

Sandra's Social

Sandra's Social Friday Teaser

As Sandra stepped up onto the porch of the house, Ayita dropped her hand to take her daughter’s arm. They walked in, and Ayita had set up tea for them.  Sandra groaned inwardly; her mother had something to say to her.

“Sit, pishee.”

Sandra laughed lightly at the endearment she hadn’t heard since she had been young. “What’s going on mamma?”

Ayita sat, and began pouring tea.  It was chamomile and lavender. The smell alone said that this tea was from Ayita’s self-grown stock.

“That’s what I was going to ask you.” Ayita sat, and looked over expectantly after she handed Sandra a cup.

Sandra listened to her mother’s odd accent that seemed to combine French, Greek, and the clippings of southern American English from her rural mother and father before she commented. “Nothing new except for my doctorate. What are you and father doing here?”

Her mother stirred the tea with her finger, and lightly tasted it. “Your father is consulting one of the top mole docs here.  I am considering things.”

Sandra nodded.  A mole doc was another molecular scientist like her father.  Jiri’s research had taken them around the world, and back again so many times that Sandra couldn’t keep up.  Jiri “the original Dr.” Dalianas was a complex man to say the least.  He had always seemed larger than life to Sandra, and that would have a lot to do with him being the most physically intimidating molecular scientist she had ever met.  She had met a few thanks to who her father was.

Biochemistry and molecular biology was her father’s life.  Always he seemed obsessed with solving the genetic make-up puzzle.  DNA mapping was his specialty.  So constantly he traveled to consult with doctors in his field to get a little bit further in the mapping of the human genome. Talking about it always brought an eerie light into his already unsettlingly bright pale green eyes.  As a byproduct of his passion, the man demanded from himself peak physical condition always insisting that knowing what the body could do made him manic about fulfilling it.

And her mother; when Ayita considered things, they were usually big things. With her towering height, Ayita had always been the most beautiful woman in the world to Sandra. Considering that she spent most of her life modeling, the world seemed to agree; the entire world outside of America that is.  It was a shame that she hadn’t been very popular with her oak skin tone, caramel eyes, full lips, and blunt nose.  Because of her exotic looks, and the social upheaval in the states, her mother only worked in Europe, and various other locales outside of the States.

The irony is that her career hadn’t really taken off until after Sandra had been born.  It started one afternoon doing a shoot in the south of the French Riviera.  The prime minister of France had been a fan of Ayita’s for years.  Having the chance to meet her, he did. They had dinner, and talked politics.  Being no political slouch because of the amount of social consciousness that had been artfully instilled in her by both her parents, Ayita had impressed the Prime Minister to no end.  He recommended that she become an advisor, and soon set the plan into motion. Soon she became quite a political figure in Europe during the 1980’s up until the Bush regime took over, and made foreign relations more stressful.

“What are these things?” Sandra asked insistently.

“A spot in the United Nations,” she said with the polite calmness most people would use discussing the weather.

Sandra squeaked a little, “You’d be awesome at that.”

Ayita merely frowned, and made an iffy noise. “Still considering.” She sighed and glanced at the floor. “Honestly I was hoping your father would be ready to settle, and we could go to Mendocino.” Her eyes sparkled warmly as she lifted them to Sandra’s. “I’ve always loved it there.”

“It’s beautiful,” Sandra agreed as she took a sip of the tea not really believing that her mother still amazed her at 25 years of age.

The quiet inquisition that had been perfected by Ayita Sittingbull-Dalianas began as she sat quietly sipping tea, and staring avidly at Sandra.  Sandra sighed, no longer hiding her exasperation, and tilted her head at her mother giving her a pointed look.

“This works on dad, doesn’t it?”

Ayita slowly smiled.

“Yes I am still a virgin,” Sandra began, “and I’m starting to think that it’s not a problem.  We are not all as lucky as you and dad were.  And most certainly not all as gorgeous as you are—”

Her mother made a negative sound, “You are beautiful Sandra.”

“And you’re my mother; you have to think so.  What I’m saying is that I’m fine.  I have successfully defended my dissertation, and that meant so much for me.” Sandra paused looking for a sign that this would be enough. Then sighed, and continued, “I have accomplished almost all I want in this life.”

“No husband; no children.” Ayita gave her a consoling look. “Why plant a garden, and then not let the flowers bloom.”

Sandra stifled the urge to argue with her mother.  In the end Ayita wanted the best for her daughter, and when you had a husband like Jiri, you assumed that marriage was good for everyone.  She just didn’t seem to understand that they were a small margin of what actually went on with men and women.  Not that Sandra had vast amounts of experience. It was just that numbers don’t lie. During her brief and eventful 25 years of life she had seen, three uncles, five aunts, two first cousins, and an adventurous third cousin marry.  Out of the eleven marriages she witnessed, and the 6 that were in existence before she had been born, only 9 of them had lasted, her mother and father, their immediate parents, a couple of cousins, and a set of aunts and uncles.  Only nine out of an overall 18.

“One promise pishee, and we will discuss this no more,” Ayita stated strongly with a clear finality.

Sandra nodded knowing that when her mother asked for a promise like this she was true to her word, and she wouldn’t let up until you agreed.

Ayita met her daughter’s turbulent ever-changing eyes, and said softly, and slowly. “Let the tide catch you once. Let yourself feel the ocean before you say you don’t enjoy it.”

Sandra's Social

Lois Lane or Mary Jane

He was her best friend in the entire world, but when it came to giving valid and significant relationship advice he always fell short.  Nonetheless he always threw himself out there to do it when the opportunity arose. And right now was no different.

"What?!?" she bristled not bothering to hide her irritation with the question.

"Are you Lois Lane or Mary Jane?"

She was no comic book ignorant. She knew her fair amount of mythos. "Mary Jane, as in Watson?"

"Yeah, Pete's woman."

Her brow crinkled. As comfortable as she was with the genre, she didn't think being able to refer to a fictitious character by his nick name was healthy.

"I know who she is. What does that have to do with me?"

He shrugged in that way that implied that it was obvious for anyone paying attention.  But the shrug was never the part to wait for, his explanations, no matter how farfetched, were usually money and quite entertaining.  She had told him years ago that he needed to record his rants and have them transcribed.  He'd make millions.

"All women can be divided equally and completely by one question.  Is she Lois Lane or is she Mary Jane." he paused dramatically.  It took a moment more before he acknowledged the obvious.  "It’s how I remember the question, try to ignore that they rhyme."

Despite herself she did crack a rather sheepish grin because he did know her very well. "Fundamentally impossible."  She finally sat next to him on the couch knowing that the words from her mouth would spurn an explanation that no one would want to stand for. "Do tell."

He took his time, as was his nature, before he imparted some of his well thought out and completely inane views on life, liberty, and love.  He stretched leisurely, snapping and cracking the joints in his shoulders, arms, and wrists in a fashion that made them pop one after the other like a shuffled card deck.  Then he settled back into the cushy sofa while taking a long theatrical breath.

"It’s quite simple really.  Think about Lois Lane, wholly irritating completely annoying and seemingly self-involved to a disturbing level.  And MJ is the girl next door, wholesome and sweet as apple pie. Nicest little girl you would ever want to meet.  On the surface.  Then you get to know them through their superhero mates."

"The real Lois Lane is a goody-two shoes cynic because she understands human nature.  She knows that not everyone has figured out what she has, which is that most things in this world we can take care of ourselves, and don’t need to be saved all the time. She knows right from wrong, and is always trying to reveal the truth regardless of what trouble that may bring."

Taking in her frown, he paused, and then shook his head. "Think about it, at no point in time does she ever get into trouble accept for when she's trying to do the right thing.  She's banging Superman, and he's the last dude she calls when she's in trouble.  Instead she hunkers down and sees what she can get done herself.  She's usually in way over her head, but she doesn't let that little fact stop her.  And before long old Supes says, hey I wonder what my lady's doing. There she is, in it up to her elbows, and still she hasn't relented.  He's pissed because she should know by now to come to him first, but he respects the fact that she won't to the point that he doesn't even give her a hard time about it.  Shrugs and says that's just Lois."

He holds up his contradiction hand, which is the right one.  He always raised it when he was about to embark on the counter argument.

"MJ though is different.  She's one of the sheep, the flock.  She thinks that regular people should depend on super heroes for everything.  So she's banging Spiderman with the unspoken understanding that she has priority. All hell breaks loose if she thinks for one minute that he is off saving someone else besides her when she's in trouble.  Regardless of whether or not she could've saved herself and maybe someone else couldn't. She's got small town girl issues so she's always jealous of Spidey's fame.  Trashing him for coming home all beat up, getting mad when his enemies come after her, worried about other women beating her out for his attention.  Let's be real, you're dating or married to a super hero, she should've known from point jump that this is the way it would be.  You either want him enough to let it not be an issue, or you want the issue enough to be with him."

Her frown was increasing because for once in his inane asinine uttering, he was actually making some sense. And like clouds parting the wisdom of realization and enlightenment fell on her.  With an eerie gleam in her eye, and a confidence in speech that she never possessed, she declared in an even unwavering voice.

"So what you're saying is that as women, we either want to be with someone because they respect who we are, or we want to be with them because they tolerate us for not respecting who we are?  As women we have to understand our own limitations and strengths and find a mate who understands and agrees that who we are isn't a terrible thing, but the only thing that they will ever accept from us.  Finally breaking free of the clingy woman, or ball-breaking bitch stereotypes.  Finally being accepted as an entity not defined by sex but sex being only a characteristic of the person as a whole."

He looked at her as if she had grown two heads.  "Where the hell did you get all that from?  I'm saying that women who seem like they are sweet usually aren't, and women that don't usually are.  Depending on who you are you either pull in a Superman or a Spiderman.  A guy that can really lay down the smack, or one that can take the smack."  He looked at her expectantly.  "Are you a woman that can pull a man that can deliver the smack, or just one that can take it?"

"Its not that simple," she countered. "While no one is as proficient at taking an ass-whopping as Spiderman is, Superman has been known to get it handed to him before he gets pissed off enough to do something about it. And when they get fed up they both lay down the smack.  Pretty efficiently.  So what does that say about their choice in women?"

This was a moment for posterity.  She had just once, for the first and probably only time, actually turned an argument of his against him.

He shook his head, with a self-effacing grin beginning to take hold. "Not a damn thing."

"Honestly I thought you were going to go with the whole,” she formed quotations in the air with her fingers, “Lois seems dumb as a stump while Mary Jane seems unnaturally intelligent for an actress, but the opposite for both is actually true,” end quotations in the air, “angle."

The blank stare confirmed that this was an avenue he had not considered, and in fact blew apart his whole theory.  "I hate telling you these things."

She smiled at him. "I'm going to stick with what I said so that I can give you credit for actually helping for once."  She patted his head endearingly. “I suggest you do the same.”  She popped up and started away. “It’s good advice for guys too, you either be with a woman who accepts that she’s not the only thing going on in your life, or is pissed because she isn’t, and is always lobbying for it.”

He continued to shake his head at her. “You know there is much to be said for not being so skilled at emasculation.”

She nodded. “I agree, be strong enough that your woman can’t.  Superman can handle a self-possessed woman and Spiderman can’t.”

He smiled at her then. “Lois Lane all the way.”

What is W.A.R.M.? Feminism at its finest

The red light turned on, and the teleprompter started. Sandra took a deep breath and followed.

“Thanks Clarice.” She flashed her television smile, all teeth and no warmth.  “I’d like to welcome you to Sandra’s Social.  On this our first episode I’d like to tackle the one social topic that we all have an opinion on.”  Automatically Sandra switched sides to face Camera 2 via instructions from the teleprompter.  “Everyone has participated in the old argument of man vs. woman at some point and time in their lives.  Mars and Venus has become a catch phrase signifying the social acceptance of men and women being as different as night and day.  Are men and women destined to be on different social planes for eternity?  Will there ever be true equality? Will men actually start calling the morning after?” She threw in a fake laugh for good measure.  “For you ladies who are sick and tired of status quo, I have a special guest for you.”  

She consulted her notes, and then presented her face to the camera again.  “Unbeknownst to the Metroplex there is a contingent of women who have decided to take social evolution into their own hands as my special guest Michelle Gardner will explain.”  

Sandra stood as Michelle walked onto the set, obviously done up by the same hair and make-up girl, but pulling it off much better than Sandra in a crisp smart looking dark blue Versace pants suit with matching Dolce & Gabbana pumps. Looked like Brenda took someone shopping.  They shook hands briefly, and Sandra sat behind her desk while Michelle took a seat next to her.

“How are you Michelle?” Sandra opened warmly.

“I’m well Dr. Dalianas,” Michelle answered in a slightly wavering voice.

“Please Sandra.”  They give each other fake smiles, and Sandra leaned onto her desk to give Michelle a curious look.  “Tell me about W.A.R.M.”

Taking the cue Michelle smiled. “Well Sandra,” she crossed her legs.  “W.A.R.M. stands for Women Assisting in the Reclamation of Man.  I’m a sociology major at SMU.  My studies have predominantly focused on women and minority groups.  Well a year ago a friend of mine and myself, after reading your book, “Dealing with the Socially Naïve Mind”, decided that we could in fact generate a social evolution.  I think Janice Parker said it best.  ‘Change doesn’t initiate itself; change is a product of rebellious thoughts that spur rebellious actions.  When this starts the only action to counter it is a reaction, the very thing it needs to grow.  Thus it is a wave that cannot be stopped, a tide that will spend itself in its own time.’

Sandra nodded appearing detached. “I’ve read that book, Man’s Social Rejection of Change I believe it’s called.”

“Very good reading.”  Michelle canted her head, and smiled even broader.  “But back to W.A.R.M..  The basic function of W.A.R.M. is to bridge the gaps between men and women by retraining men to understand the new woman.  It’s not the fault of men really.  Our generation has undergone very revolutionary transformations in our societal structure.  We stand on a precipice, and we can either climb down safely or jump.  You just have to consider the facts. Women’s equality didn’t have a voice that was actually heard until the 1920’s. That was less than 100 years ago.  There are people still alive that recall in detail the acts that transpired to see to this, most of us are direct products of the very society affected the most by this.  The basis of W.A.R.M. will be immediate and local.  The US is liberal enough to actually enact the beginning stages.  Women who were ready for this change have socially adapted to this quickly, not all but a majority have.  Extensive research shows that the faction that loses the most power in social change always adapts the slowest.  So there is a proper acclimation period that must be recognized.  What my group does is try to ease the period for men. Even speed up the process by putting them directly in contact with the new socially reformed woman.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but this sounds a little assuming.”  Sandra paused dramatically. “Why would men need assistance in this period of acclimation? Shouldn’t you just let nature take its course?”

“True Sandra, but in this cause we have to recognize that nature demands that men and women learn from each other.  We are not saying that nature will not handle this, or even that it’s unable to proceed without our help.  Our intention is to aide.  This is a learning process for both sides.  Women need to learn how to tell the difference between a pre-equality man and a post-equality man.”

“So there is a difference. Not all men need assistance.”  Sandra looked avidly towards the camera then back at Michelle.

“Some men have successfully made the transition, while others are dragging their feet in favor of older ways.  

“What is your opinion of making the,” she formed cliché quotes with her fingers, “transition?”

“I’m glad you asked Sandra.”  Michelle uncrossed and recrossed her legs the other way, as Sandra had instructed her to do when going into a long tirade.  “It’s simple, a man has successfully had the transition when he can look at a woman and not see only a means to sate his sexual desires. When he can hold actual conversations with her, and respect her opinions. When he doesn’t divide chores by gender, but based on likes and dislikes.”  She looked directly into the camera. “When he can look into a women’s eyes and know, not just say it, but know that he is looking at his equal.”

“Some people would argue that what you speak of is a type of manipulation. What about those people who are perfectly happy with the way things are?”

“They don’t have to participate.  We still live in a democracy where our rights and freedoms are upheld by our nation’s very constitution.  W.A.R.M. is by choice like everything should be.”

“Some would say that your W.A.R.M. is a highly volatile feminist group. A sort of man-hating faction that won’t accept what we have before us in our society.”

“I do understand that there will most likely be opposition and anti-W.A.R.M.ists as it were.  I also understand that we could be perceived as a fascist militant faction trying to set its own agenda into play.  That couldn’t be farther from the truth Sandra.”  Michelle canted her head slightly with a smile.  “The truth is that the women of W.A.R.M. are merely trying to aid male and female relations.  We are trying to help assure that relationships of all kinds benefit from the teachings.  It is an understanding we are reaching for, not a separation.”

“The women of W.A.R.M.,” Sandra let the phrase hang for a moment, then continued, “Would a man be allowed to join W.A.R.M.?”

“Of course, we would be hypocritical if we did not allow equal membership.  The name W.A.R.M. is merely that, a catchy name meant to garner attention.  This group is open to support from all sources.”

“Could you outline some of W.A.R.M.’s objectives and goals?  I find myself very curious as to the actual scale and scope this project intends to attain.”

“Well W.A.R.M. would like to begin here in the state of Texas with the Dallas-Ft. Worth Metroplex.  Meetings will be instated in various locations as an introductory course, an initiation of sorts.  The initial meeting will be free, and only serves as an informative Q&A session for potential W.A.R.M.ists.  After this there will be literature provided, and then anti-misogyny courses would start where potential W.A.R.M.ists would be taught to teach others, thus expanding the base of meetings to outside the Metroplex moving into the surrounding states, and hopefully nationwide by the end of a 5 year cycle.”

“What is the benefit of the reclamation of man?”  Sandra winked at the camera.  “I know a lot of women who enjoy men as they are.”

“I enjoy men as much as the next woman.  I question the motives of women that don’t want a change, and I warn men against those women who would prefer things to remain.  Most likely it is because a man that doesn’t consider a woman an equal is easy prey for women who enjoy that type of sport.”  Michelle laughed lowly, “But that’s another subject, and another group.”

The ladies threw their heads back and laughed together.

“No, the benefit is more tangible than that. You lessen the truly tragic cases, and   instances where men believe and feel like they are even expected to visit violence and sexual aggression onto the women in their lives.  Have you ever been in a battered women’s shelter Sandra?”

Sandra sobered immediately.  “Yes I have.”

“So have I.  For those watching that haven’t, you should educate yourself in what inequality of the sexes has done to some lives.”  She looked pointedly into the camera again.  “I concede that in most of those cases you have troubled minds and people that, whether inequality were an issue or not, would’ve found someone to hurt.  I’m saying, why make it so easy for them.  Most of those women concede to being considered pieces of property.  The men thought it their right sometimes to even think for the women.  

There are still a large number of countries in the world where women are less valuable than cattle.  Just because we are Americans does not make us oblivious to this.  The next time you are online go to a thesaurus, and put in the word woman, and be as appalled as I was at the large number of derogatory, demeaning, and most upsetting, inanimate words that are associated with being this gender.  All of this thinking is a crippling misogynistic malady that holds our society firmly in its grasp.  We are at a very crucial point where we can decide to change this, or to simply endure.  Myself and the ladies of W.A.R.M. have made our choice.”

The shot closed in on Sandra who was nodding approvingly with pride at Michelle.  She glanced up with a look of surprise on her face, smiled, and then immediately placed her impassive façade up again. 
“Thank you Michelle.  You have given myself, and my audience much to ponder.”

Sandra's Social Book 1 of The W.A.R.M. Front series
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The Bechdel Test and Romance Novels

The Bechdel test is a fascinating subject. It calls forth ideas about understanding the nature of the society we have created and what that means for all of us as a species. It highlights many of our social development faults.

Bechdel

The rules of the Bechdel Test for a piece of media are as follows:

1. It has to have at least two women in it

2. Who talk to each other

3. About something besides a man

The test identifies a few obvious trends in modern art and storytelling. It points to the idea that only male characters carry weight in these worlds. Often in many storytelling instances women have little to no autonomy due to their purpose being only to further the ends and identification of the male character and protagonist. While this is an interesting and expected trend in most media and art in general, the most interesting idea is that women themselves have been conditioned to some degree to expect less female autonomy in all stories, including those that play specifically to the female fantasy of love.

Romance to be very specific is usually a media that features love. The women are usually very good people but for some strange reason alone and out of fashion. Usually the author comments on looks, or on responsibilities that fall into traditional roles that are favorable for female characters.

The challenge of any fantasy is to make unbelievable instances take shape. Yet within the framework of believability. It’s called the suspension of disbelief in professional wrestling, magic shows and visual entertainment in general. This is a parody. Play act that facilitates a story about growth, love and passion.

This is exceedingly difficult to do when the author can’t even seem to identify the female characters in the story as people. It is unsurprising yet astounding in this day and age when that happens. I recall one of the complaints I’ve had about my female characters is that they are not likable. I casually and caustically explained after the critique was given to my female character without thought for the male who carried many of the same traits that she wasn’t supposed to be likable. She’s supposed to be human. She is to be accepted as she is, just as the male of the story is.

Ladies, let’s be honest, our romance heroes are not super romantic.  Most of them are grade A assholes that for some reason cannot get enough of the girl most unlikely to matter to them. We respect them because they are not embarrassed or ashamed of who they are. We call that an Alpha male in this genre and most readers would be hard pressed to enjoy a book that didn’t feature one. I find it daunting that every time I write a woman the same way, editors and agents find her ‘unlikable’. Because of course in the court of love and respectability politics you dare not propose love for a girl who is “gasp’ unlikable.

Taming

I think to Shakespeares’ Taming of the Shrew. Which in essence is a stage play from centuries ago completely about respectability politics and how they affect the acceptable level of aggression a female is allowed to have and still be able to have a successful relationship with a man. The play was written by a man and yet he seemed to grasp the idea of well if you want this much woman you need to be this much man and accept a true partner that many female authors abandon for canned preapproved agency drivel.

I could almost buy the argument that this is because I may have unintentionally excluded ‘feminine’ traits from them. I prefer to err on the side that by dent of being a woman whatever she does IS feminine. However this seems to be our impasse. Which is why this test is so important. If there is a definitive aspect of how I write a character that is considered a female thing when sex isn’t being discussed, then I’m writing all of my characters wrong.

Humanity goes beyond discernable genitalia. Humanity involves spirit, heart, essence, a fiber a soul. All of these attributes should be portrayed without a sex, because they are. These things are embodiments of the human condition. I will relent and say yes some characters will express these motivations and desires differently, but let me be clear, they will not or ever be along sexual divides. I consider it to be lazy writing.

Producing characters driven by clothes because they like to look pretty is lazy writing. I seek to create unique stories about unique people which I find to be the reality of the world. My characters are driven by the impression they seek to make in those clothes. The inherent comfort or discomfort of those clothes. The decisions are sometimes frivolous but are met equally by hard thought out and followed through on choices that have little to do with a male or female perspective and more to do with a basic human one.

Brave and Rightly So

The complexity of humanity is a daunting task to write about. It intimidates me every time I plot a major twist because in that moment the people I love can betray me. Every writer understands what I just wrote. It’s the complexity of humanity that makes these characters live beyond us, outside of us, desiring their own peaks and valleys. My characters, male or female, don’t want the easy answers. They don’t want the cop outs and the maybes. They want their tragedies and they want their triumphs. They want to be the lowest speck of humanity while being the brightest. No chromosomal switch turn at the last stages of development determines whether they want or need that more or less. Yes they come across individuals that don’t agree and they are pitied for what they choose to give up.

I see the Bechdel as more than just checking for equality. It’s a call to arms for artists to be the change they should want to see.

Sick and Tired of That Word 'Hoe' (1992-1998)

I’m sick and tired of that word hoe
Tossed out every time a woman says no
Hate the word bitch being thrown around
Another way to berate me and cut me down
All the phrases that you like to say
When you blame anybody but you for your lack of play
Walking around like you’re the man
Punk you wouldn’t know what to do with a real woman
I’d like to see your face when you realize its you
When you see no one finds it attractive those things you do
I’d like to be standing there when you get told
Let know that you have nothing anyone wants to hold
Because I was there when you needed a friend
I was the only one who cared in the end
You took that for granted and considered me a trick
Just another hoe you would let ride your dick
But I wasn’t down and I told you so
Now I get dogged cause I dared to say no
I could never feel anything real with you
I don’t respect who you are or the things you do
You’re a fool who doesn’t know gold when he sees it
So I know that a treasure like me you will never get

I am a queen of African descent, strong and proud
With my head held high, who stands out in a crowd
I am the mother of strength in the time of the slave
A presence unquestioned as you put each other in graves
I am the earth and sea in all its full power and glory
I am the beginning, the middle, and the end of the story
I am what you need when you don’t understand
I am the only thing that makes you a real man
In me is the symbol of sacrifice and the foundation of love
The very finest gift God could have sent you from above

The question is What are you?
The question is Do you even know who?

Can you return everything I can give
Will you ever be able to with the way you live
Or will you just keep putting us down
Hurting yourself as you run us through the ground
Giving yourself an ego boost while you rip away your soul
Still calling us tricks and bitches cause that’s the way you roll
Living life with nothing and no one, without anything to show
With no feeling of how two perfect halves come together and flow
Alone and looking for a piece of ass so another girl can say no
Just so I can keep saying of tired I am of that word ‘hoe’.

Lois Lane or Mary Jane

 

He was her best friend in the entire world, but when it came to giving valid and significant relationship advice he always fell short.  Nonetheless he always threw himself out there to do it when the opportunity arose. And right now was no different.

"What?!?" she bristled not bothering to hide her irritation with the question.

"Are you Lois Lane or Mary Jane?"

She was no comic book ignorant. She knew her fair amount of mythos. "Mary Jane, as in Watson?"

"Yeah, Pete's woman."

Her brow crinkled. As comfortable as she was with the genre, she didn't think being able to refer to a fictitious character by his nick name was healthy.

"I know who she is. What does that have to do with me?"

He shrugged in that way that implied that it was obvious for anyone paying attention.  But the shrug was never the part to wait for, his explanations, no matter how farfetched, were usually money and quite entertaining.  She had told him years ago that he needed to record his rants and have them transcribed.  He'd make millions.

"All women can be divided equally and completely by one question.  Is she Lois Lane or is she Mary Jane." he paused dramatically.  It took a moment more before he acknowledged the obvious.  "It’s how I remember the question, try to ignore that they rhyme."

Despite herself she did crack a rather sheepish grin because he did know her very well. "Fundamentally impossible."  She finally sat next to him on the couch knowing that the words from her mouth would spurn an explanation that no one would want to stand for. "Do tell."

He took his time, as was his nature, before he imparted some of his well thought out and completely inane views on life, liberty, and love.  He stretched leisurely, snapping and cracking the joints in his shoulders, arms, and wrists in a fashion that made them pop one after the other like a shuffled card deck.  Then he settled back into the cushy sofa while taking a long theatrical breath.

"It’s quite simple really.  Think about Lois Lane, wholly irritating completely annoying and seemingly self-involved to a disturbing level.  And MJ is the girl next door, wholesome and sweet as apple pie. Nicest little girl you would ever want to meet.  On the surface.  Then you get to know them through their superhero mates."

 

"The real Lois Lane is a goody-two shoes cynic because she understands human nature.  She knows that not everyone has figured out what she has, which is that most things in this world we can take care of ourselves, and don’t need to be saved all the time. She knows right from wrong, and is always trying to reveal the truth regardless of what trouble that may bring."

Taking in her frown, he paused, and then shook his head. "Think about it, at no point in time does she ever get into trouble accept for when she's trying to do the right thing.  She's banging Superman, and he's the last dude she calls when she's in trouble.  Instead she hunkers down and sees what she can get done herself.  She's usually in way over her head, but she doesn't let that little fact stop her.  And before long old Supes says, hey I wonder what my lady's doing. There she is, in it up to her elbows, and still she hasn't relented.  He's pissed because she should know by now to come to him first, but he respects the fact that she won't to the point that he doesn't even give her a hard time about it.  Shrugs and says that's just Lois."

He holds up his contradiction hand, which is the right one.  He always raised it when he was about to embark on the counter argument.

"MJ though is different.  She's one of the sheep, the flock.  She thinks that regular people should depend on super heroes for everything.  So she's banging Spiderman with the unspoken understanding that she has priority. All hell breaks loose if she thinks for one minute that he is off saving someone else besides her when she's in trouble.  Regardless of whether or not she could've saved herself and maybe someone else couldn't. She's got small town girl issues so she's always jealous of Spidey's fame.  Trashing him for coming home all beat up, getting mad when his enemies come after her, worried about other women beating her out for his attention.  Let's be real, you're dating or married to a super hero, she should've known from point jump that this is the way it would be.  You either want him enough to let it not be an issue, or you want the issue enough to be with him."

Her frown was increasing because for once in his inane asinine uttering, he was actually making some sense. And like clouds parting the wisdom of realization and enlightenment fell on her.  With an eerie gleam in her eye, and a confidence in speech that she never possessed, she declared in an even unwavering voice.

"So what you're saying is that as women, we either want to be with someone because they respect who we are, or we want to be with them because they tolerate us for not respecting who we are?  As women we have to understand our own limitations and strengths and find a mate who understands and agrees that who we are isn't a terrible thing, but the only thing that they will ever accept from us.  Finally breaking free of the clingy woman, or ball-breaking bitch stereotypes.  Finally being accepted as an entity not defined by sex but sex being only a characteristic of the person as a whole."

He looked at her as if she had grown two heads.  "Where the hell did you get all that from?  I'm saying that women who seem like they are sweet usually aren't, and women that don't usually are.  Depending on who you are you either pull in a Superman or a Spiderman.  A guy that can really lay down the smack, or one that can take the smack."  He looked at her expectantly.  "Are you a woman that can pull a man that can deliver the smack, or just one that can take it?"

"Its not that simple," she countered. "While no one is as proficient at taking an ass-whopping as Spiderman is, Superman has been known to get it handed to him before he gets pissed off enough to do something about it. And when they get fed up they both lay down the smack.  Pretty efficiently.  So what does that say about their choice in women?"

This was a moment for posterity.  She had just once, for the first and probably only time, actually turned an argument of his against him.

He shook his head, with a self-effacing grin beginning to take hold. "Not a damn thing."

"Honestly I thought you were going to go with the whole,” she formed quotations in the air with her fingers, “Lois seems dumb as a stump while Mary Jane seems unnaturally intelligent for an actress, but the opposite for both is actually true,” end quotations in the air, “angle."

The blank stare confirmed that this was an avenue he had not considered, and in fact blew apart his whole theory.  "I hate telling you these things."

She smiled at him. "I'm going to stick with what I said so that I can give you credit for actually helping for once."  She patted his head endearingly. “I suggest you do the same.”  She popped up and started away. “It’s good advice for guys too, you either be with a woman who accepts that she’s not the only thing going on in your life, or is pissed because she isn’t, and is always lobbying for it.”

He continued to shake his head at her. “You know there is much to be said for not being so skilled at emasculation.”

She nodded. “I agree, be strong enough that your woman can’t.  Superman can handle a self-possessed woman and Spiderman can’t.”

He smiled at her then. “Lois Lane all the way.”