50 Shades of Valentine

Let me run this by you, see how it plays.

It is Friday 13th of February, an aging warrior for Justice is deeply troubled by two things:

  • Her rather cute but psychopathic pet stalker seems to have gone to ground and the date leaves her somewhat confused as to what she should be most afraid of
  • She cannot find the painkillers for her arthrit…*coughs*…SPORTS INJURY

The scene changes to a young man sitting alone with his typewriter…

Have you ever known what it is to love someone absolutely?

You seem to wake up 10 minutes earlier every morning just to be able to think of them a little sooner, and when you do think of them for the first time every day it is as if you cannot believe your luck just to have found them.

There is nothing to be afraid of, it doesn’t matter if they hurt you, ignore you, reject you, as long as they exist and you are aware of it they are the drug that flows in your veins, banishing shadows and turning the sluggish air that flows around you electric and crackling with every kind of promise.

You feel so free, as though you have the power to fly.

She didn’t even want to like me, but I chipped away at her until I changed all that. It was easy, because whatever I might try to tell myself, I am perfectly happy to do, or be, anything that will keep her close to me.

I don’t mean that in some creepy servile way, she would hate that, I challenge her and she loves it.

I defy her and she flies into rages that keep her near me while I learn how to make her forgive and laugh with me.

I don’t mean that I am playing some kind of part with her either. There would be no point. I know, I tried it. She saw straight through the part I was playing for her benefit as if it did not even exist. That is maybe the most incredible part, she sees through me and she doesn’t mind, she accepts me, albeit despite herself sometimes.

That never happened before. I am not really like other people and they do not seem to accept you unless you are, so I learned to play the all right parts just enough to get by. But if I ever try to play a part with her she will give me hell – ok, maybe I do it sometimes for that very reason. I love it when she gives me hell, and not just because it’s an inside out way of being reminded that she prefers me to any part I could ever play.

That never happened before either.

I can’t get over the fact that all the things they say about being in love are true. You really do want to do stupid things like send round two dozen roses with a note saying “Guess who?”.

SHE.WOULD.NEVER.LET.ME.FORGET.IT

Not a good idea, mightn’t always discourage me though.

Pretty sure I could walk along miles of shoreline happy just to hold her hand.

I get daft fantasies about bringing her out to dinner somewhere elegant and expensive, or dafter yet the Opera or the Ballet (not something I would usually see my way to being able to sit through if I tried, but I bet she’d love it). I could hold her coat and trail in her wake while she glided sweeping staircases in a breathtaking gown (not that I have the most fully formed idea of what one of those should look like. Lots of bare shoulders and sparkly bits I suppose?) to a place where I could sit beside her without having to speak, or think, or do anything but love her.

…and I am not even fooling myself, she really does like me too. I asked her and she said so. She just doesn’t like some of the things I do, but I can change all those things – and I will as fast as I can.

Or I would…

…you see she is a ghost.

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to turn into “Tales of the Supernatural” I don’t mean it that way. I don’t even believe in that stuff. She is very much alive. Alive enough to be furious with me for the past week, she can’t really grasp that those of us who live in the real world can’t always prioritise her approval. She’ll forgive me, she always does…and if she doesn’t I’ll find a way to make her. It’s just the way we are. If we lived together half the china would hit the wall every week, and we’d secretly love every moment of it too.

I would forgive her literally anything (which is good because she isn’t exactly a saint. In some ways we are so opposite you wouldn’t think we would ever have any time for each other).

As it is, we almost have it all.

It’s not that there is nothing in the way, there is plenty, but when you feel this way everything else is so much trivia, just chores to be dealt with.

I am obsessed with what it would be like to hold her, just stand there, refusing to let her go.

But she died before I was born…

All that is left is a ghost older than my mother.

How could I ever hold that?

valentine

#sanesurvivors

I am another #sanesurvivor (so sane I got back up out of bed to read this cos my android wouldn’t open it :o) )

Save A Woman - Save The World!

I am a survivor of the sex trade. I am also a survivor of a couple of car accidents, more than a few bad relationships and a broken nail the day before vacation. This in no way minimizes the dreadful experience many survivors of the sex trade experience but – as it is 18 years in my rear view mirror – I have to say that pretty much everyone has experienced some kind of crappy experience and managed to come out of it and – well – survive. I aged out. I woke up one day and realized that my days of having people believe I was 22 were over. Never saw it coming and wasn’t it prepared for it.

I’m an advocate for women who want to exit voluntarily. I think that when a person in the sex trade wants out, they should be able to get out without…

View original post 778 more words

Sex workers’ safety should matter to all of us

It takes REAL cojones to change course *AND* actually admit you have been wrong (most people who change course just hope nobody notices!) Welcome back from the dark side.

A Thousand Flowers

The Amendment to the Modern Slavery Bill that proposed criminalisation of sex workers’ clients was defeated at Westminster yesterday, and sex workers’ rights organisations breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Meanwhile in the North of Ireland, sex workers fear increased violence after the DUP and Sinn Fein joined together to vote through criminalisation just days ago, with the same expected to follow in the Republic within months. For more info on the Amendment to the Bill and why it was dangerous, check out SCOT-PEP’s response.

I used to be in favour of the Swedish Model (criminalisation of the purchase but not the selling of sex), from a well meaning but misguided viewpoint. I hold my hands up to that – I was wrong, it is harmful. I support…

View original post 863 more words

Propaganda

Reading this back to myself in cold light of day I am worried it might be a bit too OTT to be convincing.

A beautiful young mum accidentally discovers that not all the children of Nazi Propaganda Minister Josef Goebbels died in Hitler’s bunker when she stumbles upon a plot conceived by one of his Grandchildren to round up other innocent mums, just like her and place them in detention facilities, while selling their children for adoption.

Using his Grandfather’s old work notes (that stayed hidden with family when the diaries were found)  as a guideline:

  • he will convince the world that these women are victims in desperate need of rescue from terrible criminals
  • he will convince the world that these women are childlike, unworldly, feeble minded and incapable of independence
  • he will convince the world that they need sheltered accommodation and supported living.
  • he will create detention facilities to meet this need and net him at least €50,000 a year from the government for every woman he can “rescue”.
  • he will convince the world that such sadly disabled creatures cannot possibly raise children
  • he will start to use new constitutional loopholes to sell off their children for adoption to the highest bidder

But here is the true genius that he could only learn from Opa Josef’s notes:

  • To avoid these women being able to attract the kind of sympathy that might attract too close scrutiny of his methods or insist the women be allowed to speak for themselves he must apply the stick of fear as well as the carrot of sympathy. He must convince the world that, sadly, the  childlike minds of these women are so morally feeble that if they are not kept in strictly controlled conditions  they will otherwise resort to dealing in drugs, pandering children, etc and so forth.

What worries me is that I am not sure the part about one of Goebbels’ children surviving is very likely, and I cannot think of another way to explain how anyone would ever dream up anything so monstrous, let alone think they could get away with it and get rich.

All things conditional

I have a brilliant outline for a chapter…pure slapstick…

A couple of politicians…complete buffoons…combined IQ in double figures…but sly as a barrel of foxes…manage to find a way to force through a motion that, effectively, bars anyone who has ever disparaged their intellect and integrity from tendering for a vital research contract.

Of course this rules out everybody but their own mothers.

That is, until their mothers catch wind of what they have done…

Thickening the Plot

Well with little else to do lately I have been doing a lot of work.

I have a fabulous scene written that romps through as an allegory of the reality at the coal face of politics.

Don’t think this will be too much of a spoiler without the context.

Imagine an activist developing an ongoing dialogue with a charming, but ruthlessly ambitious politician. There is a kind of chemistry there, as well as an ongoing duel. They have a similar sense of humour and are on diametrically opposite sides.

She goes to mind her friend’s house nearer to his part of the country, and, out of the blue he turns up on the doorstep on her last afternoon.

Dot . Dot . Dot

…she even wonders aloud how on earth something could be so thoroughly wrong and yet feel, smell and taste so perfectly right.

The chapter closes with her driving home in a state of euphoria, longing to see him again, but also intending to bag and freeze his DNA in case it might be useful in future…

…after all, waste not, want not. :o)

What am I up to?

I am considering that one of my protagionists should be a third rate hack who climbs the career ladder by  “selling” information and fixing for people in power…

He thinks of himself as some kind of invincible superintelligent Magus moving the pieces on a geopolitical chessboard.

Pretty much everybody else thinks he is a pompous pain in the *ss…even when they find him useful.

Would he be a convincing character? Or is he too far fetched?