I have been accepted into Agnes Scott College!  It’s a liberal arts college in Atlanta.  It’s highly selective (under 1000 students) and I wasn’t at all sure that I’d get in.  I expected to get rejected, attend a community college and then apply again in a few years.  They examined my writings and work to date and decided I’d be a good fit.

I’ll continue writing and publishing of course.  And this works right into my plan to move more toward the literary field.   Not too far in that direction, though—genre’s not getting rid of me that easy.

I’m really excited and looking forward to the next few years.

Oh, and Scream 2 was filmed at Agnes Scott.  How perfect is that?

Clayton County has regained accreditation.  Of course it took hiring and then firing a new director, voting out more than half of the corrupt school board and thousands upon thousands of prayers from an entire county.   But they did it.  Wonderful news.

I’ve been taking a break from the genre.  I think everyone should do this every few years just to clear their heads and find new perspectives.  At least this is what’s happened to me.   I’m well rested and energized.

While I was away, an interesting discussion on cultural appropriation and the concept of white privilege, among many other things exploded in the SF&F genres.    It has been dubbed Racefail09.  If you haven’t heard of it you can catch up here.  But let me warn you, it is very long and involving.   As these things tend to go, it has gotten very heated and crazy things have been said.  Stupid things.  Harsh, insensitive things. 

 But, I don’t want to talk about that right now. 

Well, thank God, I guess you say.  Who wants to talk about that?  It’s a mess. 

Well, I say that is the problem. 

You see, there has been this deafening silence in horror.   One that is so loud that it’s become the giant elephant in the room.  This is so out of the norm that it struck a chord with me.  After all, how often does SF&F spill over into horror and vise versa?  All it takes is for you to think back to the Harlan Ellison and Connie Willis fiasco  of ‘06.  Everyone had an opinion about that.   It invaded blogs and message boards across fandom.  This is to be expected.  We’re writers.  We write.  We form opinions and then write about them.  So, what about this Racefail thing?  Why all of a sudden did we big mouth, opinionated writers have nothing to say?  Nothing to write about? 

I’ll tell you why.  Because it’s hard.  It’s damn hard.   We don’t want to get involved.  We want to pretend that either this doesn’t effect us, or that if we just keep quiet it’ll go away. 

Of course there are those who think that because we aren’t talking about it, then maybe it’s not a problem for “us” like it is for “them.”  And by we, trust me, I don’t just mean you white folks.  No, I mean us PoC too.  Because you see, there are a whole lot less of us PoC  in this field than there are in the SF&F field.  So, we also pretend and hope no one mentions it and turn our heads.  Even worse, we hope that by staying out of it we won’t hurt our already slim chance of getting published. 

But I must ask myself, is it worth it? 

 Let’s be honest, no one wants to hear a person they respect say something so unbelievable that it’ll affect their view of them forever?  No one wants to get called ugly names and made to feel as if their view is not valid.   I don’t want this.  So instead, I—like you—ignore it for a few weeks and hope no one notices me.  Or better yet, I hope to God they don’t ask me how I feel because I’m black.    

But, come on people, at some point we have to admit the truth to ourselves.  If we aren’t talking about it, then we are simply avoiding it.  And to be honest, this is a topic we have avoided for far too long.

There has been much heated discussion in fandom over this.  The term Racefail says it all.  But overall the horror community has buried its head in the sand.   The problem with the current discussion is that people were so angry that they began yelling past each other (which is not easy to do on the internet, so it’s kinda comical).  However,  I think we, as a genre, can do better than that.  I think we can discuss this much more rationally and intelligently than they did.  In fact, let's be honest, we can’t do any worse.

But ignoring this issue and hoping it just goes away isn't going to help matters.  This is so huge and so potentially damaging to the genre that we can’t continue to ignore it.  Think about it, do you want people to feel so isolated from your work that they can’t even comment about it?  Or worse, just stop reading you all together?  It’s a serious issue, especially as the genre itself seems to be disappearing.  Beyond the big names, it seems to have become an underground genre.  Horror, I think, is seen as something for solely fourteen year old white males.  And if young white boys are your perceived audience, how can you hope to expand and broaden that audience to other people?

Yes, people will get their feelings hurt.  People may even threaten to blackball others.  But, hopefully, when all the smoke clears, we will be a better, more diverse genre because of it.

I hate waxing philosophical right now, but—they say, that all it takes is for good men to do nothing...

So, kick me out.  Threaten not to publish my books (idle threat, at this point), call me a troll.  But, for Gods sake, let’s begin to discuss this.  Let’s put it out there, let people listen, and understand.   Or don’t, we can continue to pretend these things do not affect us or our characters.  But do not make the mistake of thinking that if we aren’t talking about it, it’s not a problem.  Even yelling at one another would be better than...silence.

So writers, go write.

I helped my mother move yesterday.  She was at work and couldn’t get off, so the only people there were myself, and my two sisters.  My mom moves a lot.  A lot.  She doesn’t like to stay in one place too long, so about every two years she gets the itch, and I know I’ll be getting a call telling me she’s found the most amazing place.  And they always are.

The only bad thing is that I have to help her move.  I hate this.  I think this is why I tend to stay in one place; because I’ve moved some many times in my life as a child. 

My mother didn’t have any boys, so it has long been left up to my sisters and I to move her.  Why not hire someone?  Well, why do that when you have several young, capable women to do it for you—for free? 

Anyhoo, my sisters and I had four hours to load and unload the truck and get it back.  We packed everything we could on the truck.  Several very heavy sofas, beds, mattresses, massive bookshelves, washer and dryer, deep freezer and lots and lots of other things.  And did I mention that my mother lived up two flights of stairs?

We are formidable women, I tell ya.

So we drive the truck (a large U-Haul type thing) to the new house.  The problem is my mom decided to move into the house from hell.  Well the house itself is fine.  It’s just getting there from the road that makes it hell.  The driveway leading to the house is barely wide enough for a Buick mush less the tank we were driving.  It’s shared with a neighbor whose house sits directly in front of my mother’s.  The driveway itself is at a sharp incline and drops off on both sides into deep ditches.  If you can’t imagine it, just think of a big U-Haul tumbling into a ravine and you pretty much got it.  The imagery worked for me.

When we got there, the wonderful neighbors, who inhabit the house in front of my mother’s, had placed a garbage can, riding toy and a huge basketball goal in the driveway.  He walked out of the house, shirtless, checked his mail and went back inside.  My sister was driving and after pulling in, we decided she would have to come out, back the truck in, while dodging the uneven, hilly driveway and ditches. 

I called to the shirtless fellow through his open screen-less window to please move his basketball goal while I moved his trashcan and child toy myself.  He quickly agreed and we continued on.

My youngest sister and I directed my other sister into the drive, telling her which way to turn the wheel and if she needed to straighten out and start again.  As she was backing in, the shirtless neighbor walked out, put his hand on my back, began laughing and said something inaudible.

I looked at him and smiled until I realized what he’d said.

“I wondered what the problem was,” he said, “until I realized it was a woman driving.”

I stared at him for a moment and then at my sister who looked like she could have killed him.  I have no doubt she could have taken him.

He continued staring at me earnestly, as I replied.  “I know, but it could be worse.  We could have a man driving.”

The smile quickly faded from his face and he looked as if I had said the rudest thing in the world to him.  He walked back into his house, staring back at us every couple of feet.  I think he was really upset that I’d dare say that to him.

My sister said from the truck, “I can’t believe that asshole.”

Personally, I found it amusing.  On the one hand he thought we were nothing but pitiful girls who couldn’t do anything.  But he didn’t bother to offer any assistance.  Not that we would have accepted, but if he’s such a fabulous man—better than any woman—isn’t that the manly thing to do when you see a women you think needs assisting?  So what kind of man does that make him?  Also, in what world does he live in that it’s completely acceptable to walk up to someone, insult them and expect them to giggle like silly little children.

(side note: seeing him there laughing like an idiot, I could just imagine the slurs that would have come out of his mouth fifty years ago—hell, twenty years ago.)

Also the fact that he thought it was fine to touch me was just strange.  Infringing on my space was rude and creepy.

My sister got the truck into the narrow driveway with little effort and we girls unloaded the truck.   Sofas, beds, mattresses, massive bookshelves, washer and dryer, deep freezer and lots and lots of other things.

The creepy, shirtless neighbor watched from his screen-less window.

When we left, we waved goodbye to him.  He didn’t wave back.  I’m sure my mom will be glad we’re making new friends for her already.

I’m aching like hell right now.  But, damn, do I feel good. 

If you haven’t already, go read ON TRIAL FOR HIS LIFE, TWELVE ANGRY PEOPLE and THE VERDICT.

It is indeed hard deciding a man's life.

Tony stood up, and addressed the court. He said that he’d always maintained his innocence and that he would never hurt a child. He said he had three daughters of his own and he loved children.

Yeah, a little too much, I thought to myself. We had already come to a verdict at this point, and I had formed my opinion.

The judge said two things had stuck out to her during the trial. One was STUPID, she said she had never seen anything like that, and it was sad. She said the other thing was when the defendant said he had three daughters of his own. She said he had three daughters and he had done this.

She sentenced him to TWENTY years.

I have to admit, my heart sank just a bit. I did believe that Tony had done everything that Grace had said he’d done. One of the things that we had wanted to ask the judge was if Tony could get some counseling while he was in prison. We guessed that he had urges that he had problems dealing with and that maybe these two girls were the first time he had acted on them.

We were wrong.

After the court, the two lawyers spoke with us, asking us questions about the case.

The prosecutor said there was SO much that we didn’t know. He said that there were SIX children in Tony and STUPID’s house and there had been charges against him with two older daughters as well, but Kelly had been the only one he had plead guilty on. He said that Tony had been accused of raping STUPID’s sister before they had met, and she STILL went out with him.

The defense said that to be fair, the sister was a drug addict, so wouldn’t have made a creditable witness. He said, however, there was a “VERY POWERFUL” videotape of Grace at twelve, where she described what had happened to her in great detail. He asked the prosecution why he didn’t use it, and the man just shrugged.

In the end, I feel that the system did work for this man. We did everything we could to remain unbiased and fair. We looked at the evidence, and made judgments only on what was given us.

I walked out of the courthouse with two of the courtroom assistants. “It was hard, wasn’t it?” the man said to me, “deciding a man’s life.”

“It was,” I agreed.

“People think it’s easy. You go in there and just sit down and make a judgment. But you have twelve people with twelve different opinions. “ I nodded.

The women who had been there outside the jury door, helping us with anything we needed, the whole time, said: “Don’t feel bad. He would have gotten twenty years for one count or twenty for all three anyway. You did good.”

And now for the verdict:

One person argued that maybe he was just angry with the mother and decided to talk to the girl about it. At 4 A.M. Most didn't agree with this.

So we decided to vote. Anonymously.

My vote was:

1) Guilty (breast)

2) Guilty (vagina)

3) Not Guilty (taking to the basement)

The reason I voted not guilty for the third, even though I believed it did happen, was because I didn’t think they had proven it. The police had barely even mentioned it in their reports. He wasn’t asked about it on the polygraph and he wasn’t asked about it on the stand. Therefore, to me, he didn’t have a chance to defend himself against the charges.

It wasn’t easy, but I don’t think judgments should be decided on people’s gut FEELINGS. The prosecution said, in his closing statement, “If I didn’t do my job, or if the police didn’t do theirs, then take it up with my boss, or take it up with the police department. But don’t let this man go free.” I don’t think this is fair. Our justice system was founded on the premise that someone must be found guilty on the evidence.

Then he went on to say, “Many jurors walk out saying I know he’s guilty, but they just didn’t prove it. We’ll that’s not right. If you know he did it, then find him GUILTY.”

I wouldn’t want someone walking into court, taking one look at me, and deciding whether I had committed a crime without hearing any evidence. What if everyone did this? Is everyone’s judgment so infallible that they have the ability to look at someone and guess right away as to their guilt? This is why you have to PROVE it with a preponderance of the evidence.

One juror said, “I know this guy is guilty. He’s just a slimy person. This is a guy who fathers three children, doesn’t marry the mother, doesn’t take care of them, cheats all over the place, and I don’t think he’s a productive member of society. I don’t care if they lock him up forever." Many people agreed.

Of course, he wasn’t being charged with “not being a productive member of society.”

One guy said he didn’t understand why the guy was being charged with TWO counts of child molestation. He walked into the girl’s room, and he molested her. He argued that when you fight with someone, and you hit them, and then kick them, you are not charged with battery for both the kick and the punch. No, you’re charged with ONE count of battery. Why is this guy being charged with touching her breast and vagina?

Hum? A very good point, I thought.

Besides, the man said, he wasn’t even asked it he’d touched her breast on the polygraph. There fore, they hadn’t proven it.

This was beginning to piss some people off. Why were we trying to let a child molester off?

Some wanted to just tell the judge that we were deadlocked, and let twelve other shmucks decide this mess out. I was against this. Hell, the guy was getting about as fair a jury as he was gonna get, as far as I was concerned.

There was a lot of down time. People sat in their chairs thinking about things.

One woman said, “Look, I can let him go on the enticement, but I KNOW they proved the other two.”

One man, who had been trying to decipher the polygraph results, said he worked with computers and he didn’t see how the expert had said the man had failed. People argued that the guy was considered an expert by the court, and that it wasn’t up to us read the results. Just accept that he had failed the test.

Finally, after a day and a half we reached our verdict.

We all piled back into the courtroom. I sat down, and handed the paper to the bailiff, who handed it to the judge.

She handed it back and I stood up and read it out to the courtroom:

“On count one of the indictment, we find the defendant NOT GUILTY, on the charge of Child Molestation.”

I looked at Tony. He sighed.

“On count two of the indictment, we find the defendant GUILTY, on the charge of Child Molestation.”

Tony deflated. I’ve never seen a shrink man so visibly—as if he was half the man he had been only moments before.

“ On count three of the indictment, we find the defendant NOT GUILTY, on the charge of Enticing a Minor for indecent purposes.”

The judge thanked us and told us that we could stick around for the sentencing, if we liked. A few of us did...

Last week I told you about my experience as a juror on a Felony child molestation case. Well, it didn’t get any easier when we were handed the case.

We had twelve people from all walks of life in that room. There was a professor, an oil rig worker and, as you know, a writer and everything in between. I was selected as the foreperson.

There were three charges.

Count I Child Molestation (when he touched her breast)

Count II Child Molestation (when he touched her… elsewhere)

Count III Enticing a minor (when he asked her down stairs)

We were allowed to use the evidence of him pleading guilty to Kelly, Grace’s friend, only if we thought it showed a pattern of behavior.

STUPID, Kelly’s mother, had been angry. It was VERY hard to tell who she was angry at. I think she was mad at the world. Tony had fathered three daughters with her (Kelly was NOT one of them). The defense attorney said that she was mad because Tony had been cheating on her and therefore this was why she had lied and said he had told her he wanted to see her daughter’s breast. Of course, this doesn’t really work because she had given him an alibi for the night in question with Grace. When Tony testified, he said that he had cheated, but so had she. He said they were off again and on again.

Also, with the polygraph, the ONLY important question he had been asked was if he had touched Grace’s vagina. Remember this is the question he had failed with over 99% certainty as far as the examiner was concerned. He had been deemed an expert by the court, with no objection from the defense.

Now, I’ll tell you a bit about how I felt along with some of the arguments.

Personally, I hate those machines. I think they have some merit, but for the most part I think it’s junk science. The examiner went through great pains to tell how the machine worked, however, it was long and arduous and complicated. And I don’t think a man’s life should be decided on the bases on whether a machine said he was lying.

The testimony was more important to me. Even though she was the defenses’ witness, STUPID, was very telling. First off, she all but admitted she would be with the man if he was out of jail—after all, she had three daughters by him. So, I figured she would lie to get him out. In fact, she only admitted that Tony had told her he wanted to see her daughter’s breast after being read her statement. “Yeah, he said it, OK?” she had said.

Personally, I think she was angry because she knew no matter how this turned out, SHE looked bad. I wonder why in the HELL her children had not been taken away from her. I still wonder.

One of the important things to me was that Grace’s story had remained consistent for the whole five years.

Another important thing was that now Grace is 18 and lives in another state. So the defense would have us believe that she had held on to a lie for five years, through many states, and now she traveled back (I assume on her own dime) to lie to the court. Also her testimony was powerful.

Another powerful testimony was her mother’s. The woman was holding back tears as she remembered what her daughter had told her. This had her hurt. It was obvious. And that, to me, meant she believed what her daughter had said, therefore she wasn’t lying or having her daughter lie. Which had been another argument.

But, to me, the most telling was the guilty plea. And it was very similar to the incident with Grace. He took Kelly down stairs. Asked for a hug/sit on lap. And rubbed her shoulders.

When Tony testified, he said he only got Kelly out of bed because he wanted to discuss his relationship with her mother. This to me is ridiculous. Nobody gets a child out of bed (or should) to talk about adult matters. This makes NO sense.

And if it doesn’t make sense, its not true.

OK, so what do you think? Have you changed your mind?

A couple of weeks ago, twelve of us sat down to decide the fate of a man accused of two counts of child molestation and one count of enticing a minor.

We had limited evidence in this case, as there is wont to be in cases like this.  The girl, who we'll call Grace, had been twelve when she spent the night at her best friend's house (we'll call Kelly)and said that Kelly mother's (we'll call STUPID) boyfriend told her to come down stairs so that he could talk to her.  While down there, he asked her to hung him and kiss him, and he tried to rub her shoulders.  She said she tried to run away, but he grabbed her arm, pulled her back down stairs, and begged her not to tell anyone, and that he would never do it again.

She said she believed him.

The following weekend, Grace spent the night again (she did so EVERY weekend).  She said that about two o'clock in the morning (she guessed) that the boyfriend (we'll call Tony) came into the room where she slept on the top bunk of a bunk bed with Kelly (no one slept on the bottom).  Tony woke her up with a condom in his hand, placed his hand on her breast and…in (literally) other places.  (Sorry, guys, just don't want to talk about this too much.)

Grace said that she started to cry, and begged him to stop.  She said then Tony began crying and left the room.  She said she then went back to sleep.

Her mother then testified that a week later that she told Grace that it was time to go back to Kelly's house, but the girl didn't want to go.  This was VERY unusual.  She asked the girl why, and finally Grace told her. 

Then she told the mother's best friend.

Then she told the cop who took the report.

Then she told the detective.

Then she told the doctor who examined her three weeks later.  There was no evidence.

This all happened in 2001.

Four years later in 2005, Tony pleads guilty to enticing a minor. 

The minor is Kelly, Grace's best friend, who is now twelve years old also.  She said he woke her up, told her to come down stairs.  She said he told her to sit by him, he pulled her to his lap, and then began rubbing her shoulders.  She ran upstairs and told her mother.

Tony takes the stand and says, he had been in jail for eight months, and he said he didn't understand what he had signed.  But he is arrested again, for violating his probation, when he goes to see his probation officer WITH Kelly's mother, because they are still together.  It clearly says in his plea that he is not able to see her or the children.  A plea he signed.

STUPID, Kelly's mom, testified and reluctantly admitted that he had told her that he wanted to see her daughter's breast that night.  But she said that he couldn't have molested Grace because he had been at a friend's job's Christmas party and had come home late.  That night, she said—and Tony also testified—that his friend had dropped him off and then fell into a ditch and Tony had spent all night helping him out.

No friend testified.  No party was verified.

After getting arrested for validating his parole, the police asked him to take a polygraph in Grace's case.

He failed. Badly.  

Now, five years later, he is going to trial for molesting Grace.

So this is the case.  It's a little complicated; I did my best.  What do you think?  

My daughters actually go to one of the best schools in the county (for all it’s worth).  The school has continuously scored high on national testing, and had the highest test scores in the county on the writing assessment test for the last few years.  

My daughter took her SATs on Saturday.   I got up at six in the morning (on a Saturday!) to get her there by 7:45.  However, all of that will be useless if we lose accreditation.  This also affects my 15 year old, and if it doesn’t now, will affect my 7 and 9 year old.

My home will be worthless.  My children won’t be able to get scholarships.  Other counties are not willing to take the children of this county in (and really, I can’t blame them).

The problems are due to the school board. 

SACS found: “ Today’s announcement that Clayton County Schools are run so badly that they became the first system to ever lose their accreditation is a disaster. With the loss of accreditation, their students cannot receive HOPE scholarships, they may not be able to transfer their credits, and their college future is threatened. Those responsible for educating our children failed.”

The board members, who are accused of misappropriating funds, abuse of power, bid tampering and much more, refuse to step down.   Obviously they care more about their egos than the children and families of this county.

If something doesn't happen soon, this will be me.

The AANB is now up on Amazon.  I don’t expect any of you to order it, as it’s a whopping eight hundred bucks.  I would love to own a set myself, but I just can’t afford it with that price tag. 

I have seven entries in the collection.  Many of the African Americans I wrote about were important in the movement, but the one who sticks out to me the most is Mary Turner.  Turner was lynched in Georgia in the early 1900s because she threatened to go to the federal authorities if her husband’s killers were not brought to justice.  He had been mistakenly (as much as these things were mistakes) murdered by a mob.

Turner was eight months pregnant when she was led out to a field, tied to a tree, upside down, set on fire and had her baby cut from her.  When the child fell to the ground crying one of the on lookers crushed its head with his boot.  This woman’s story really affected me a lot. 

I had to go to the Georgia archives and read through months and months of old news papers where blacks were talked about as if they were less intelligent and nothing more than thieves and murderers (ironic isn’t it?).  It was interesting to read advertisements about ointments and herbs that were said to calm the black man.  The Atlanta Journal-Constitution article about Mary Turner actually said that she had caused her own death because she’d “made unwise comments."

I enjoyed writing all the articles, and if you get a chance, check them out in your local library.  I will.

Most of you have figured out by now that I’m black, if for no other reason than my picture off to the side of this blog. I also happen to write genre fiction. You probably have figured this out too.

There are a lot of issues people of color (PoC) face when writing genre fiction. Should you write about black characters? Will it hinder you if you do so? Do you have to sneak PoC characters on white readers? Believe it or not, all of these things are issues within the community. I think too often the default color for writers and readers is white.

I also think that it’s too simple for writers to revert back to what they’ve been taught or they’ve seen and read all their lives. Dark skin and hair is bad and ugly. Pale white skin is beautiful and good.

It’s a shame how many writers, even today, simply fall back on this formula, instead of trying to create more complex, multi dimensional characters of all shapes and colors and worlds. Sure it’s harder but in the end it will be more engaging, thought provoking.

I attended a Fantasy Roundtable about people of color working in the field. There were a lot of interesting people from many different backgrounds. We talked about many of the problems facing PoC in the genre. It was very enlightening. Check out the first part here.

So, I just got back from the World Fantasy Convention on Monday and I’m tired and sore (don’t ask) and excited. I had a wonderful time, and got to meet lots of cool people. Also caught up with loads of friends. Too many to name here, but you know who you are.

For those who don’t know, my sister is a flight attendant, and although that means I get all my flights cheap (OK, VERY cheap), it also means I have to fly on stand by. I didn’t particularly mind, as I had Robert McCammon’s Queen of Bedlam with me in the airport and only had about a hundred pages to go and couldn’t wait to find out what would happen. (I’ve since finished it, btw, and although it’s not quite as good as Speaks the Nightbird, it’s well worth picking up.)

As it turned out, I made my scheduled flight and arrived in Saratoga Springs on time. At the airport I met Christopher Barzak, an unbelievably talented writer who later read from is new book, One For Sorrow. We had over an hour wait for the bus, which just flew by while we talked about business, religion, class, sex and any and everything else possible. Man, did we cram a lot into that hour.

On the bus Diana Paxson sat in front of us, while the driver recounted all the times he had to strike his children (ages 2 and 4) to keep them in line. It seems as if his son, who is two-years-old, has taken to saying “no” over and over again. No worries, the driver insist, his teeth will grow back. But seriously, it was disturbing. Diana, however, is a fabulous lady, and we had a long, involved talk about Octavia Butler. She knew her.

The town was absolutely beautiful. It was picturesque with cute, little store front shops, and old Victorian buildings. Everything was within walking distance, and so I’m sure I walked off at least as much food as I ate. I can hope. Ok, probably not...

My friend Jenny Orosel, who brings me cookies every single convention, had not had time to make them this time, so she brought me some fantastic toffee. Oh. My. God. Ok, I guess I didn’t work it all off.

The convention was a rush of mad meetings and private parties. I met some wonderful people including Carol M. S. Burrell, Holly Black, K. Tempest Bradford, Alaya Dawn Johnson and many, many more. I am really looking forward to next year in Canada.

If I owe you an email, I will be getting to it shortly. I miss you all already.

See ya next year.

Warning: This is a rant. For the sake of preserving some friendships, I'm not naming names. That’s really not important anyway. I want to open conversation.

Recently I picked up a book, and within the first 80 pages we had seen a 10 year old girl get raped by her uncle, and a father rape his daughter with a group of armed friends, while he insist he’s simply seducing her.

In another book, a large naked creature’s dick points toward a “helpless” woman like a “magnet.”

Yet in a third, a modern day ogre breaks into a women’s house, kills her boyfriend, and she offers herself to the thing. He literally tears her open while having sex with her, and afterward she falls in love with him. IN. LOVE. WITH. HIM. HER RAPIST! IN LOVE!

WTF? Why is it that women and young girls are so often described as the sexual play things for men, usually with penises bigger than a humanly possible?

What is it about horror that many writers think this is somehow scary or entertaining?

Have these writers ever met real women? Or are they simply living out some kind of sicko fantasy? Later making sure the men/creatures get their comeuppance as the writer purges his demons through his writing?

The women usually have no personalities in these stories, and exist only to be fodder for men to handle in whatever way they see fit. They have no life outside of the men, and seem to be defined by them, and whether they have them—which only speaks for the writing because most of the characters are one dimensional and have one propose. Many times, as I said before, they seduce and crave the creatures, sometimes even after being raped. Because you know, there’s nothing like falling in love with your large penis rapist. Happens everyday. Women don’t have real minds, you know.

Of course the female characters survive torture that no real person could endure, just to die horrible deaths. Many times even children—boys and girls—are subject to this abuse.

I don’t understand it.

But when a writer comes up with a cork-screwed penis-having juggernaut character roaming the countryside raping and pillaging the women for seemingly NO REAL REASON AT ALL, and he is cheered on by his peers, it makes me wonder. Of course, where else can you be accepted (and, dare I say, expected) to enjoy the brutalization of women, and children, even in literature?

The bad guys themselves are usually dull, unentertaining characters, filled with unrequited rage. They hate for no better reason than they can, and exist for much less.

This is not a rhetorical question. I really would like to know what it is that appeals to writers and readers who enjoy this? Of course something other than, “It’s fun” or “because I can” would be nice, too. But I can’t expect too much.

Big dicks and all.

***

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to true and actual stories both living and dead is probably a warning sign and you should in all probability check yourself or seek a writing coach immediately.

Guidelines for submissions for “The Red Light District” (final title TBD) edited by Tracy West (Cat) and Chesya Burke, published by Bloodletting Press.


What are you looking for?
Anything. The only thing you HAVE to have is one character that is a prostitute, lady of the night, call girl, or whatever you want to call it, someone who sells himself or herself for money. That’s the ONLY thing that HAS to be in the story. If you want to throw a cat in the story, that’s a point or two more, but not required. (Yeah, I know, narcissistic, but I get to do those kinds of things.) The story can be set in the past, present or future. The prostitute doesn’t even have to be the main character, but needs to be one of the top characters.

So if I write a story about a bunch of hookers that get killed will that be ok?
Chances are…that’s pretty normal and is not ok. We’re not looking for normal. And besides, that’s been done. There are many layers that can portray what goes on in the seamy end of the world. We’re looking for those layers. That doesn’t mean the story has to be about the world of prostitution. If every story is about that, it’s gonna make a boring book. We want ORIGINAL stories, something that hasn’t seen the light of day anywhere else.

Can I make it gross and gory?
You can, but be careful of too much gross and gore. We’re looking more for what’s in the character’s heads and hearts rather than the characters actual head and heart. Also, we don’t want any erotica or pornography.

Word length? And how do I submit?
2,000-5,000. Any more or less and we will reject it without reading it. You can send your stories as an attachment to catwest1@charter.net or to chesya@comcast.net, please don’t send it to BOTH of us. Do not send your stories IN the e-mail. Do not give us a synopsis of the story. Stories should be in proper manuscript format with a short letter introducing yourself. If you don’t know what proper manuscript format is, don’t bother submitting.

Am I getting paid?
Yes, if accepted, we will pay .05 per word upon publication and a contributors copy.

What is the time frame?
All submissions must be sent by March 7th at midnight. Any later and they won’t even be considered. Publication will be early 2008.

Are you going to tell me if I’m accepted?
Obviously we won’t be able to tell everyone that is accepted until we’ve received all entries and have made the final decision. But if you send an e-mail, you will get a response within a week that we’ve received it. If we know right off the bat your story isn’t going to make it, we’ll let you know to free up the story. So the longer you don’t hear…the better your chances.

I have a really cool story I submitted elsewhere; can I submit that to you?
No. We want stories that aren’t simultaneously submitted, so while we have your story in our hot little hands, we would appreciate you not submitting it elsewhere until you hear back from us. No multiple submissions; send us your best story.

Am I going to get rich and famous like that King guy if I get in the book?
If you think that, then bless you. But in all likelihood you will not get rich and famous. There will be 400 copies printed. So with that amount of books, rich and famous probably isn’t going to happen.

Are there any other requirements?
Yup. If you are accepted you will be required to sign signature sheets. You will also be required to give us a short bio on yourself. It won’t make you rich and famous but it will be cool to have YOUR signature and YOUR bio in the book.

What if I have any other questions?
You can e-mail us at catwest1@charter.net or to chesya@comcast.net. We will answer your questions, to the best of our ability.