Social Conciousness or How to Step into a Minefield Because I Have No Choice

I wasn't going to write this particular post, but I ran across this article about Norman Rockwell yesterday. His bravery and conviction over painting social justice issues during the '60s and '70s made me realize things haven't changed in the fifty-some years since he produced The Problem We All Live With.

One of the big cautions experienced writers tell newbies is not talk about politics or religion. Normally, I would agree when it comes to social occasions. Who needs an upset stomach after a wonderful dinner by arguing with your dinner companions?

Things are a little different when it comes to art. The artists' inner feelings are going to come out regardless of their intent. Sometimes, they don't even realize it. On the other hand, a consumer comes in with their own biases, and those biases color their perception of what the artist has done.

I don't think of my writing as particularly political. My primary goal is to write realistic people in fantastic situations and doing fantastic things, but never losing their basic humanity. Some of the best compliments I received involve the characters of Harri Winters and Aisha Franklin from the 888-555-HERO series. Readers have commented they are the type of girlfriends the readers would love to have in real life. Honest, loyal, and always ready to dish over coffee or wine.

However, there are other readers. While they grudgingly admit my books are well-written, they don't like my themes, or most especially the racial/gender construction of my casts.

I've been accused by readers of being a social justice warrior, a feminist propagandist, and anti-white. I freely admit to being a SJW and a feminist. Few people go into the legal profession without a little bit of those qualities. Civil rights were the basis of the colonies exiting the British Empire, and they should extend to EVERY human in this country.

The anti-white shit comes from white nationalists. The "if you're not with us, you're against us" absolutists.

Uh, no. Definitely not anti-anything except bullies. One great-great-grandfather and his two brothers got the fuck out of Bavaria around the time of the Franco-Prussian War, back when Prussia was pushing for a unified Germany whether anyone wanted it or not. That mentality carried over for the next century, resulting in the devastation of WWII.

Another great-great-great-grandfather fled Ireland in the midst of the Potato Famine.

What do these have in common? It's white on white suppression. It's bully mentality.

As I've said many times before on this blog, I don't like bullies. I don't give a fuck what color they are or what's between their legs. Treating someone else like shit just because you can pisses me off.

I grew up with that crap, mainly from my own family. The only time my mother was proud of me was when I bullied someone else. I'm totally ashamed of my behavior, and once I was old enough to understand what was really happening, I swore never to do it again.

Ever.

And I do my best to do right by other people. I don't always succeed, and I apologize when I know I've fucked up. And if it looks like I don't know I did something wrong, please correct me.

In the meantime, if you think white nationalism is the way to go, then my books are definitely not for you. This isn't a political stance. It's a human one.

When Will I Be Good Enough?

A friend commented in an e-mail about how intense my blogs were last week. I had to think about my reactions to the subject matter, and I believe I figured out the commonality.

"You're not good enough."

Even though only one particular incident was aimed directly at me, that was the gist for most of the people I mentioned in last weeks' posts. I've heard this refrain my entire life, and it still pisses me off.

I wasn't good enough for my mother. Why couldn't I be athletic like my sister and brother? Why couldn't I be a pretty cheerleader like my cousin Stephanie? Why couldn't I stop embarrassing my mother by speaking my mind?

It continued through school, but now my peers and teachers piled on. Why was I such a nerd getting straight A's? Why couldn't I get a boyfriend? Why couldn't I dress right?

And it carried through my adult years. I wasn't good enough because I refused to sleep with a boss. I wasn't good enough because I wasn't employed at a big law firm. I wasn't good enough because I wouldn't work for free.

When I started writing, the rejections and the angst only added to the miasma of insecurity. Ironically, what helped, really, really helped, was indie publishing. Trusting my voice. Trusting my talent. Trusting myself.

The put-downs haven't gone away.

I had an indie writer bitch me out for congratulating another writer who was ecstatic about signing with a publisher. It's not my life; it's not my career. If this particular person was happy with her decision, then I would support her.

I also had a trad published writer tell me that since I had made a trad sale last year, then maybe now I could get an agent. There's something wonderful in having a little self-confidence. I simply asked her why I needed one if I could make my own sales.

It took me nearly fifty years to learn not to let people make me feel inferior. Sometimes, I think I would have learned that lesson a lot sooner if  had someone in my life had been willing to stick up for me.

So yes, that's why I get passionate when I see someone bullied or put  down. I know what it feels like, and I want the recipient of such treatment to know they're are not alone.