The fireworks have begun, despite (boom!) the many neighborhood bans on them. Seems the more bans pop up, the more (boom!) stores sell ’em. So now it’s the pissing contest, with each and every yahoo (boom!) countering someone else’s fireworks as if to say: Yeah, mine’s the biggest.
This is gonna go on for awhile.
My writer’s email account is under maintenance. Mm. Means something might be there and not showing up. Can’t say anything for sure until I hear. Doing my best to not haunt it, but…it ain’t easy.
No word from friends, either. I expect they’re all out having fun. I hope.
Took the morphine down to 2 a day. The pain recedes a bit more each morning. That’s encouraging.
Still manic. Seeing but not seeing, hearing but not hearing. Problematic when my brother tells me something, then leaves, and I can’t remember where he went or when he’s returning.
Bored out of my fucking skull with tv. Nothing new, so we’ve been watching from our collection. Last night’s selection was Hobo with a Shotgun. I enjoyed it for its splat element, its over the top chroma push and panto acting. I didn’t enjoy the blatant dick story: the only women in the film were non-descript mothers who stood protesting violence, or hookers. Nothing else. And only one woman – no, check that, two; the nurse was female – had dialogue. It was dick-story city, testosterone driven drivel that was really repulsive. Could not get past it during last night’s viewing. Made me doubly proud of my own work: solid stories in which the main characters happen to be women. They could be male, as well. It makes no difference to the basic story. It’s not about women’s problems with men, or pregnant women, or women bitching about relationships. It’s just a story. No women’s issues undercurrents, although they’re present in a light degree because they’re always present in women’s lives.
Similarly, I’ve been having issues with reading the Dune series. Good Goddess! Always the male lead, the male who ‘can see where women can’t’, the male who drives the entire fucking thing. Women are victims of time and space, their own frailties and the men who enforce the law. *vomit* Same shit made me stop reading CS Lewis.
And every time a man writes a woman’s story, it ends up like Ultraviolet. I want to like that film. But it’s based on what every man assumes is the ultimate pinnacle for every woman: motherhood. What. the. fuck? You spend all that money and time making a film and THAT’S your fucking message? That motherhood is the saving grace of every female? That’s as bad as Grease.
I will jump all over ANYONE’S ass who calls me ‘the mistress of suspense’ or makes any other reference to me being a female. Screw you; I’m a writer. Sexless. It makes no fucking difference! Let’s throw out the bullshit: words like actress. Why? Why aren’t we all just actors? Why the sex difference? It shows up a lot in Dutch, and I find it irritating. Different words for female teachers, female this, female that – it’s a not-so-subtle enforced distance from men.
Men who support that shit…You can all go suck your own dicks. I sure as fuck won’t.
…Yeah, yeah. I’m on a rant. And I’m becoming an entrenched feminist. The times make the woman…
*sigh* It doesn’t help that lately I’ve been reading a story from my friend J. It’s…female strong. Female strong from a homosexual male’s perspective. It doesn’t ring true. In some ways it’s as clunky and offensive as a heterosexual male’s take on women. And I don’t know how to tell him that. Plus, well…all the intensive writing and editing I’ve done has made me sensitive to certain problems. Passive writing. Inclusion of all the senses. Truth is, I’m not even half way through the story and I’ve already a long page of notes for him. He’s a good writer. Excellent when it comes to stuff like film reviews. But he’s too cerebral for novel writing – at least, to my tastes. And while I understand he’s writing fantasy, his narrative continues in the same pondering sort of tense as his dialogue, and it becomes too much. I think his stuff could be real good, and break out of his cult fan base, but only if he addresses some of this. I just don’t know how to say it…
And doesn’t that make me sound arrogant? …On the other hand, if I notice it and really do want to help (which I do), shouldn’t I say something? This is stuff I had pointed out to me. Not nicely. If I can convey the info without hurting people the way I was hurt, well, that’s good, right? I mean, I’ve run into writers to whom I’ve had to say: run your stuff through spell check first. And they don’t. You can’t help people like that. They do what they do. But J’s my friend. He’s promising as a writer. …Fuck. Let’s face it: I don’t want to risk losing him as a friend. I don’t want to hurt him.
Honesty again, huh? Oh, Universe. I woulda thought you might give me a few days off from that. It IS a holiday, after all.
…Yeah, it is. And as long as that’s going on, I’m hibernating. Napping while it’s quiet. Chillin’. Making no decisions more pressing than what’s for dinner.
And finding something (boom!) that isn’t dick driven (boom!) to watch.