Alpha Girls Rule The World

I just finished Nalini Singh's Branded by Fire, one of her Psy-Changeling novels. And oh, my God, can I relate to Mercy--alpha female, strong, independent and capable(just like another Mercy I know by Patricia Briggs—another of my favs). But it seems that strong, independent women get shit from everyone. If one does not happen to belong to a pack of predatory shapeshifters, as Mercy does and I do not, being an alpha female can be very difficult. In the real world, strong independent women are seen as ball-busting bitches. No one thinks twice about calling you aggressive or saying, "No one likes you."  What I've actually found is that it is only the people who are threatened by female strength who are the ones who don't like us. But it still hurts when people are nasty just because they think they can be.  Female strength is often equated with a lack of emotion, as if strength in women makes us less feminine and therefore less emotional or sensitive. Which is a ridiculous argument on a number of different levels: first, "real" women are not more inherently emotional than men; second, strong women are not a different species than "normal" women; and third, who is coming up with these silly stereotypes to begin with?

People think it is OK to say mean things to someone they think lacks human feeling. But these are the same people who supposedly think alpha girls lack a sensitivity chip, so why aren't folks more afraid of us?  After all, we might bite them. But I digress. Again.

And, actually, the phenomenon of being mean to strong women is not really what I want to talk about today. Shocking, right, that I'm at the third paragraph of this post and I haven't reached my topic sentence yet?  My seventh grade English teacher would be appalled. Oh, well. So, finally, the topic at hand is the loneliness of the alpha female.  Mercy is lonely. She is afraid that she will never find a mate because she will never find someone who is both strong enough and flexible enough to engage in the dance of dominance that is necessary when two strong, independent individuals try to get together.

Ms. Singh does such a good job describing the very real downside of being an alpha female in the real world-- a difficulty in connecting with others because connection requires surrender, and letting go of control, which is hard for everyone but especially for alphas--male and female. And life without intimate connection is lonely.  But it takes a certain kind of strength to cede control. And it takes a very sophisticated understanding of the healthy aspects of dependence and reliance to truly connect with others. So while this kind of connection is possible for alphas, it takes a conscious decision, which Mercy comes to understand. And which is as it should be, in fact.

It is hard to let go for those of us who like to be in control. It's scary. And uncomfortable. And dangerous. Most of us who live in carefully constructed houses of illusion don't want to be disabused of those lifelines. Just like Mercy, the idea of total surrender can be anathema to alphas. And for females, showing a man the truth of who we are, as Mercy is determined to show Riley, often results in the man finding the nearest exit.

I love the way that Riley evolves to understand that to be in love with a female alpha is to love her dominance and seek her trust so that she can let go with him. I love that he wants to protect her but that he loves that she can protect herself. The whole romance is so well done and so well described that I felt like I was right there with them, figuring it out, one step at a time. Not necessarily neat and tidy, but real. 

And I'm so glad that Mercy doesn't have to be lonely or submissive. I don't agree with imposed roles, particularly based on gender (I know, you are shocked!). I am so grateful that I was born after the advent of feminism into a culture where women don't have to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Like Mercy, I would never survive with my sanity intact if I hadn't been. And I'm glad I'm not lonely either, and that my husband loves my strength and doesn't insist on always being in control. Just like Riley.  I love this truth in fantasy.

One of the things I loved best about this book is that this time, it's not only the male who is alpha. I love that Nalini Singh is exploring the phenomenon of the female alpha. We're out there. We exist. And we want men who can appreciate us and cherish us not in spite of our more "masculine" character attributes, but because of them.

Female alphas are hot. Just ask Mercy. Or Anita Blake. Or any of the heroines in Kresley Cole's Immortals After Dark series. These women are smoking! And I don't mean cigarettes. And their men understand that to win the heart of an alpha female--and keep it--is an accomplishment of epic proportions.

The Divinity of Domestic Goddesses

I'm still reading the Vampire Academy books by Richelle Mead. And I'm feeling called to comment on her observations about the dichotomy of individuals--mostly female--who seem to fall into two categories: warrior women and domestic goddesses. The heroine of these novels, Rose Hathaway, my girl crush from last week, clearly falls into the first category. But one of the interesting aspects of these books is that Ms. Mead expresses--through Rose--some longing for the ability and inclination to be more oriented to the home and the family. And one element of this theme that runs subtly through the series is the implicit notion that these ways of being are essentially mutually exclusive. 

Being a warrior precludes domesticity, maybe especially for women, at least according to Richelle Mead. And I need to give this serious thought. Because I really don't want to believe that this is true, but, unfortunately, I suspect that it is. So, for today, the question is, can the same person be happy and fulfilled out in the world kicking ass and taking names while also enjoying pursuits closer to home, including cooking, cleaning, gardening, child care, and general homemaking?

When I married my husband, I felt I was very clear about my position on traditionally-dictated gender roles. I was opposed. With prejudice. He says I misled him during our courtship with protestations of delight in exercising my culinary skills, limited as they were. He claims, and I'm not commenting on his veracity, that as soon as we got married, I ceased spending time in the kitchen. I came back with the observation that I still enjoy spending time in the bedroom, so he should be quiet and grateful.

He encouraged me to take a gardening class (the fact that I needed a class should have been his first clue that perhaps my thumb was less than chartreuse). We had a conversation about cleaning bathrooms, where I had to point out that the bathroom belonged to both of us, and therefore it was not my job to clean it, but rather ours. Just as childcare was also a shared responsibility. I get so angry when a father refers to caring for his children as "babysitting."  When a parent cares for a child it's called "parenting" and should not be considered a cause for expecting a medal.  My husband doesn't do that, just for the record.

Over time, my husband came to understand that I had no more affinity for domestic activities than he did, and that, as a result, we needed to share these responsibilities so as to balance the burden equitably. But the truth is there are people out there, mostly but not exclusively female, who enjoy these sorts of activities. Lots of folks like to cook, don't mind cleaning, and delight in playing peek-a-boo with a toddler 100,000 times in a row. Not to mention those who feel that kneeling all day in the dirt under a hot sun is the height of relaxation and fulfillment.

I am absolutely not one of these people. And part of me really wishes I were. But the part that wishes I didn't feel so wretchedly bored and put upon by domestic chores is at odds with the part that believes, like Rose and her creator, that if I enjoyed homemaking, then I might not enjoy my pursuits outside the home as much as I do, nor would I be as motivated to do them as I am.

Is this a false dichotomy?  Perhaps.  Can women bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan?  Undoubtedly. Does that mean we have to enjoy both?  Probably not. Now, I know that such people exist; women, especially single mothers, who do it all and do it well. And I also know there are women who claim to enjoy both work and home activities.

But these women, at least from my vantage point, are warriors on hold. It's possible that before the house and the kids they were fierce and intense in their purpose, as Rose is. But domesticity is domesticating, no doubt about that. What makes us good at nesting undermines what makes us good at risk taking, a necessary component of the warrior mentality. And we can argue about whether it is the nature of the attachments that encourages risk aversion or the distraction of the tasks themselves. For me, it's the dilution of focus that compromises my ability to kick ass and take names effectively.

Being a warrior isn't just about war and physical fighting, although that is certainly true for Rose.  Being a warrior is the ability to achieve difficult goals. It requires the capacity to focus on complex relationships and the patterns of many moving parts. From my perspective, domestic goddesses are able to focus their attention on many things at once, to keep many balls in the air at the same time and to juggle them all with grace and efficacy.

All I know is that I wish I gotten me some of that genetic code. I wish I could be happier in my kitchen and my backyard. I wish I were the type of mother who relished making Halloween costumes for my kids and cupcakes from scratch. Instead, I was the kind of mother who dressed up as Princess Leia for our Halloween party, wielding a light saber (and yes, I am aware that she didn't have one in the movies) and leading the charge of 15 eight-year-old boys into battle against a drone army armed with laser guns. It was ok, though. One of the other mothers brought the cupcakes.

Gratitude

Today's post is inspired by Pia Giovanni Cuelebre, by Thea Harrison, who always makes time to appreciate the blessings in her life. 

On Thanksgiving I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to my readers who keep finding me and who keep coming back. I am so grateful that people choose to spend some of their down time with me and my quest to live authentically and to find truth in fantasy. I also offer thanks to God/Goddess/the Universe or whatever each of us chooses to call that which is bigger than we are (and I have to digress for a moment--I wouldn't be me if I didn't--and share some wisdom that was imparted by one of my theology teachers many years ago, "there are only two things we need to know about God: there is one, and you're not it."  And now back to our regularly scheduled programming).

I love that that Thanksgiving offers a moment to pause and contemplate all that is good in our lives, all the things that work, all the everyday miracles that we experience but rarely acknowledge. And a lot of this may be trite, or delivered in a more cliched manner than would be the case if I were a more accomplished writer,  but I truly wish for each and every person reading this that you take a few minutes to think about all that is good amidst all that is not. I believe that wherever we focus our attention on gets bigger and invite you to focus your attention on the many blessings in our lives, even if we need to begin our list with the fact that we are breathing today, the sun came up today and we are here on this planet and this plane to see what the day will bring. We each have that each and every day. And it is good.

So, I will begin my litany of thanks with the truly spectacular sunrise I witnessed this morning. I awoke early to hit a Thanksgiving yoga class, just to begin my day in the right frame of mind, and to offer my body some respite before its ritual abuse later in the day (although I have to say that the abuse started early this year and I'm fairly hung over, even as I write this, but I'm focusing on the good stuff here, not what isn't working at this moment, like my head or my stomach, neither of which is too happy with me right now).

So I'm thankful for a beautiful sun rising over the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. I'm thankful for beauty and nature and silence and solitude before the bustle of the day begins. I'm grateful for a moment just to be and to witness that over which I have no control and that which I have no need to control. I'm grateful for the reminder that I can let go sometimes and good things will happen anyway.

And as I contemplate the rising sun, I turn my attention to the people sleeping in my house this morning. My husband, for whom I give thanks each day. He offers me the gift of acceptance in all my imperfections and all my deficiencies. He celebrates my achievements and supports my dreams and endeavors, even when they come at a high cost to him. He has let me be me--even more importantly, over more than two decades together, he has let me create myself in such a way that I can finally be comfortable in my own skin, because I no longer have to conform myself to someone else's ideas of who I should be.

I'm grateful for my twin boys, who challenge me in so many ways to be a more complete person. Each era of their lives had helped me grow and evolve and I am so thankful I get to be their mother.

I'm grateful for my childhood friend, who is here celebrating with us. She represents all the deep friendships in my life and the longevity of our relationship is mirrored by the rest of my circle of close friends who are scattered all over the country. These women are my created family. They are my sisters even though we don't share blood. The blessing of friendships that have spanned a lifetime are beyond measure and I often wonder what I did to be so lucky to have friends such as these. I also have amazing friends from later walks of life who so often  inspire me and support me and provide very necessary perspective. My friends are among my greatest wealth.

And as we prepare the delicious food and set a beautiful table and listen to our children playing and our phones vibrating with a Thanksgiving wishes from those who are father away, I am struck by all the good in my life. It is so easy to focus on what is wrong. It is harder to attend to that which works, that which is quietly fulfilling, undemanding in its wholeness. I'm so wired to seek more, more, more, that I sometimes miss what I already have. Or worse, I discount it because it is not everything I could imagine having.

And the truth is I have so much more than most. Not just in terms of abundance, with which I'm definitely blessed, but also because I have a wonderful marriage, healthy kids, friends who would cross the globe to get me a tissue if I sneezed, and enough self awareness not to take myself too seriously. Life so, so good. Is the same true for you, even if the particulars are divergent? Are you counting your blessings? Have you thought about the immortal words of my favorite philosopher, Dr. Seuss, Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?

So, let's all cultivate an attitude of gratitude. Today. Tomorrow. For as many days as we can. The days we look at the world through grateful eyes are the best days.

Today is one of the best days. Thank you. 

That's What I'm Talking About

I have a girl crush. I'm a little in love with Rose Hathaway, the badass heroine of Richelle Mead's YA series, Vampire Academy. Generally, I eschew YA series; I can't really handle all that teenaged angst, once was certainly enough for me. Nor do I like the high drama over absolutely nothing, especially among the girls, although being the mother of two teenaged boys had taught me that high drama among teenagers is not limited by gender.  And finally, I really don't appreciate the absence of hot sex scenes in these YA books. I'm all about the chick porn. Having said all of that, however, I also have to say that I have barely been able to tear myself away from these books for the past week. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm being driven by the kind of compulsion that fuels the magic in Ms. Mead's interesting, original world. But perhaps not. I think this kind of compulsion is just the result of good, old-fashioned compelling writing. I can't turn the pages fast enough to see what happens next. And each book in the series is better than the last. Coolio!

So, back to Rose. She has firmly taken her place in the pantheon of warrior women I aspire to emulate from my beloved paranormal fantasy books. Included in this august group are Mac, Anita, Merry, Jane, Mercy, Cat, Sookie, Elena, Pia, and even some of their more light-hearted sisters, including Betsy, Glory, the other Jane (Jameson), Nix, and her Valkyrie contingent. These women kick ass and take names, as I’ve described before. But the thing I love most about them is their ability to overcome their own compulsions. And Rose might actually take the prize in this arena—her evolution from a girl who consistently gives into her reckless and irresponsible side, with all the hedonistic pleasures it promises—into a woman who consistently does the right and responsible thing has been enlightening and instructive. In this, she is like all of my favorite ladies, but her situation is maybe just a little harder. After all, for her, doing the right thing means killing the man she loves.  She definitely wins the competition, I think. What am I talking about, you may wonder again, as you have before. Don't worry, I'll tell you, just as I always do—eventually. When I can find my way back to the point of my ramblings. I'm talking about resisting those overwhelming feelings we all have to do things that feel good in the moment, but that we absolutely know are not good in the long run. Or even in the moment immediately following the immediate moment where the bad behavior seems like such a good idea.You know what I'm talking about: the ice cream at the end of the meal, even though we're trying to lose a few pounds; reading just one more chapter or even just one more page when we know we need to get going to meet another responsibility or just get to sleep so that we won't be zombies in the morning; or skipping the gym in favor of the local watering hole to meet some friends. That's what I'm talking about. 

But wait, there's more; diet, sleep and exercise are child's play compared to the more important decisions we make while under the influence of the compulsion of ease and avoidance of pain and discomfort. What about when we know it's time to leave a job, or a spouse, or a friend, or just a bad situation?  And we don't. We put it off just a little while longer, kind of like Rose does when she knows she should stake the bad vampire, but she hesitates because she just doesn't want to do that right this minute. She tells herself she'll do it in a few minutes. But for Rose, like for us, procrastination is paralysis.  But unlike the rest of us, or, maybe it’s just me, Rose gets over her procrastination PDQ and does what she needs to do—even when she is fighting the physical, emotional and mental withdrawal from some pretty potent magic, which works like the best drugs imaginable, giving her an incredible, almost irresistible high.  Almost irresistible.  As in, not quite, because resist she does, though God only knows where she found the strength, because I sure don't.  I’m just not sure I could be so strong. Could I get up and walk away from something that felt so good, and seemed so real?  Surely I’d like to think so, but I doubt myself all the time.

Luckily, we are all given lots of opportunities in our everyday lives to practice this particular form of compulsion resistance.  Temptation calls at almost every turn—and we are often in the position to wonder whether we really need to do the right thing because it’s the right thing, or because we’re afraid we might get caught if we don’t.  If we are honest with ourselves, would we all be completely upstanding citizens if there were no penalty for transgressing?  Would we jaywalk? Snag a candy bar without paying? Cheat on a paper or a test? Kiss our sister’s really cute boyfriend if he wanted? Probably not.  Or maybe so.  Each of us has to answer for ourselves. As I’ve noted many times before, doing the right thing is hard to do. If it were easy, everyone would do it.

That’s what makes Rose Hathaway such an excellent role model, and why I have a teensy swoon going on for her.  I want to be just like her. I want to do the right thing, no matter the cost to my heart or my comfort or anything else.  But, I have to say, I don’t think I could kill the man I love even if I were convinced it was the right thing to do. The good news is, I don’t have to make that choice today.  But I can be inspired by Rose and her willingness to do the hard thing.  Because it always helps when we see someone else succeed in doing things we want to be able to do ourselves.  If she can do it, maybe so can I.

No One Died and Made Me Queen. Unfortunately.

I want to be Queen Betsy. Without having to die first, of course. But with the awesome shoe collection, naturally. What the hell am I blathering on about, you may wonder?  Well, I spent my weekend nursing my psychic wounds after a week of feeling like everyone was out to get me and reading the Queen Betsy series by MaryJanice Davidson. These books are a hoot, not to mention hot (Eric Sinclair definitely makes my Man Crush Monday short list). And they are fun and quick and totally capable of distracting me from all my woes. What these books didn't do, unfortunately, was dissuade me from my recurring fantasies concerning all of the people with whom I'd like to share a piece of my mind.  Or maybe more than a piece. After all, I'm practically a genius and I'm sure I can spare it for a worthy cause. Just ask me.  :-)

I love the way Betsy tells people off. I'm sure it's not polite to be impressed by someone who calls other women low-class cows, but if the shoe fits, you should buy that Blahnik, right?  I love that she never pulls her punches and that she always calls people on their bad behavior, even when it's not socially acceptable or politically correct. I spent way too much time daydreaming about what I could say to all the people who annoyed the living daylights out of me last week and caused me to feel offended and defensive all at the same time, which is a cool trick, you've got to admit.

So, I got to enjoy Ms. Davidson's books not only for their direct entertainment value, but for the vicarious thrill I experienced watching Betsy mouth off to a wide variety of humans and vampires alike--she's an equal opportunity mouther offer, after all. I was able to burn in effigy all those who hurt my feelings and wallowed in hypocrisy and lived in deep denial about their own significant failings while pointing out all of mine.

But then I had to stop and consider whether I really wanted to turn these particular fantasies into truth. Sure, it took Nalini Singh/Psi- level lockdown not to tell the asshat at the Pentagon to take his White House name- dropping and tell it to someone who hasn't written briefings for Presidents and Secretaries. As Shania would say, that don't impress me much.  And it took every ounce of self control I possessed not to return fire with prejudice against the person who informed me my family was deficient because we enjoy our electronic devices a bit too much for her judgmental tastes. And, as I went home and seethed in self-righteous wrath, and read about Queen Betsy to take my mind off my troubles, I had the time to consider my desire to spray it not say it.

With respect to the asshat, I've got to ask myself, who cares?  Not me, actually. Poor guy is stuck in a windowless room 16 hours a day. I'm sure that's got to affect the old brain cells. And name-dropping is probably all he has to show for his vampire-like pallor from all those fluorescent lights. And my judgmental and tactless friend who eschews electronics?  Well, she probably has a point, which is why it pissed me off so much, and why I went home and took away my kids' cell phones, not to mention my husband's iPad (can you say Clash of Clans widow?).

So maybe mouthing off shouldn't be my go-to strategy. Maybe the cost of indulging my inner-Betsy would be too high and totally not worth it. And maybe the way I handled it, in fact, and not in my admittedly-rich imagination, was the way to go:  read the fantasy books to distract myself and use the time to calm the hell down and act in a more considered manner. This way, I can fantasize away without actually endangering anyone else or any of the relationships I value. I think is the definition of a win-win situation. So, while I still want to be Queen (and wouldn't the world be so much better with me in charge?!), perhaps I don't really want to be Queen Betsy after all. Queen Anne will do just fine, thank you very much. 

The Shelf Life of Sympathy

I've had a rough year in terms of death. It began with the death of my mother sixteen months ago, followed swiftly by the passing of my mentor and close friend who I'd known and loved for 25 years. Then, after a brief respite, two of my childhood friends, who are still among my best friends, each lost a parent who'd been parents to me as well for most of my life. Each death felt like a body blow as the world became depopulated of people who knew me before I knew myself. And not only did I begin to feel like I was living in a fundamentalist version of hell where I was left behind, it quickly became apparent that the next generation waiting in the wings to greet the Grim Reaper would be me, my husband and my peers. Talk about a cold splash of water to the face.  The implications were legion and complicated and intertwined. And in my grief I barely had the headspace to unpack any of those boxes to look inside and see what was wrapped up in all those layers of confused emotion.

Mostly, I just hurt.   And I felt like maybe I was losing my mind. I did things that were totally out of character for me. Like driving 100 miles one way, stopping, and turning around to drive back. Sobbing most of the way. I'm sure the roads were super safe that day. I also ranted and raved, mostly at my family and closest friends. I went to bed early some nights and stayed up till dawn on others. I could not find a comfortable place for myself, no matter what I did or didn't do. I had to re-learn to live in a world that no longer included individuals who shaped not only my reality, or rather my old reality, but who also shaped me, because they had created boundaries to my universe, dictating what I did, and said and thought and even what I was willing to admit to myself that I felt. Without them I felt ethereal, that my essence was dissipating.

And mostly, people were awesome. At first. For a while. And then maybe less so. And then less after that. And the very first thought that came to mind was that sympathy definitely comes with an expiration date. Unfortunately, the one grieving doesn't get to decide when that date is. In my case, the expiration date was significantly short of the actual amount of time spent in the most intense throes of my sadness. I suspect this is true for most of us.

I was reminded if this phenomenon by two things, which, as I'm coming to expect, coincided in a way that seems increasingly unlikely to be coincidence. I'm rereading the Black Dagger Brotherhood series and thinking about Tohrment, whose mate and unborn baby are killed early in the series, leaving him grieving and seemingly irreparably broken until he's given a second chance in Lover Reborn. As are all the Brothers, Tohrment is a compelling character and JR Ward makes us feel every emotion that he feels. His pain, which goes on and on, drives him to do crazy, out-of-character things, like leaving his adopted/foster son, who is also grieving, and basically trying to kill himself so he can join his mate. His Brothers don't know what to do. And they are clearly discomfited, though happy, when he is returned, almost dead, but not quite.

The second event involved speaking with a friend who has recently lost her father.  She is lost in grief, simply lost. And it was so difficult to speak to her. Even though I know exactly what she is going through, the raw emotion, the intensity of her feelings, and my own helplessness to help her made me very uncomfortable. And I felt that way and behaved commensurately despite the fact that I know how disappointed I felt when others have presented similar reactions to me in my grief.

Why is it so hard for us to share a common human experience with each other?  Why do we react with what amounts to aversion to those who are grieving?  Why do we only tolerate our own discomfort in offering sympathy for just a short time after a death, and then expect the one grieving to take their tears and loneliness underground and out of sight?  I've seen this happen too many times to believe that this is not the norm.

We must think grief or misfortune is catching. We must believe that we might attract death to our door if we associate with others who have been visited recently. Or, as we have no idea what to say or do, the excruciating awkwardness of the situation compels us to avoid it.  I get it. But we need move beyond those initial feelings and offer support to those who need it.

The gifts of presence and witness are highly underrated. We don't have to do or say anything, in fact. We can just offer ourselves as fellow humans who either understand or don't. Doesn't matter. We can connect without saying a word or doing a thing. And we should. It's what we have to offer someone experiencing what we will all face at some point or another. There is no expiration date for grief and loss and it's inauthentic to pretend there is. We are all entitled to our feelings and we all deserve to feel connected to life through our fellows when that connection is interrupted by death. It’s what the Brothers do for Tohrment.

The way the Brothers surround Tohrment with their presence and love, without necessarily doing anything in particular, is instructive. It's another reason to read these amazing books. And the next time someone needs to affirm life after a death, let's all commit to overcoming our reticence and to behaving like the Black Dagger Brotherhood would.  And certainly we can behave as well as a group of mythical vampires whose job it is to save humanity, no?  WWBDBD?

It's Not Fair

So, I'm reading Night Pleasures in Sherilyn Kenyon's Dark Hunter series. And I'm sure I'm going to have as much fun mocking these titles as I do with other  series'--I'm thinking of submitting my own suggestions for silly,  salacious titles to the Ministry of Silly Names--I'm sure it must exist. But beyond the title, this is the first real entry into the Dark Hunter series, and I'm enjoying the way the world building is shaping up and I'm beginning to see a number of intriguing characters whose lives I will look forward to exploring as the series continues. And because this is a mature series and I'm just joining the party, more fun for me. Yay.  As you might expect by now, I haven't gotten to the topic of this post, which is all about the concept of fairness and how it relates to reality. In the Dark Hunter world of Night Pleasures, Kyrion, a two-thousand year old vampire (who is one of the good guys, of course) and Amanda, a twenty-something, quasi-normal accountant, trudge the complicated road to their HEA, overcoming obstacles of circumstance and internal resistance. They really don't have much in common, after all, what with the 2000-year age difference and the whole vampire-versus-human issue between them. But one area of significant divergence is their respective perspectives on the concept of fairness. What is it? Does it exist? Can you count on it? And what happens when one's expectations of a basically level playing field disintegrate under the onslaught of repeated encounters with a less-than-benign reality?

These are questions worthy of contemplation, I think. And they are certainly issues that have occupied my personal brain space in the past as they do now, having been inspired to think about all of this as a result of Ms. Kenyon's well-developed world and characters.

Basically, life isn't fair. But so many of us seem to think it is or it should be. Where does this magical thinking come from and how can we dispel these destructive delusions so that we don't get smacked upside the head with the cold slap of reality?

I believe the basic difference, as evidenced by Kyrion and Amanda, actually, is one of age and maturity. Kyrion has been around the block quite a few times at this point, and Amanda is a relative infant in comparison. So it stands to reason that Amanda, with her dearth of life experience, still believes the myth that life is fair, while Kyrion, in contrast, has learned, the hard way, that life and fairness aren't even in the same ball park, much less the same field, level or otherwise.

The fairness of life is a concept for children. And really, only those children who are lucky enough to have an advantaged upbringing, including a stable, peaceful home life, sufficient food, medical care, education and time and space for the kinds of play kids are supposed to be able to enjoy. Which describes a pitifully small portion of the total population of kids in the world, unfortunately.

If life were fair, all kids would experience happy upbringings. And adults would also live in a world free from hunger and violence and prejudice and fear. But that isn't the world we live in, is it?  Or at least the majority of humans do not.

The concept of fairness is actually insidiously undermining, in my opinion. It seduces us into believing we "deserve" the good things in life, and, probably, we do. But so does everyone else, pretty much. I work hard. And so does the custodian at my kids' school. But I'm betting that I get to go home to a better life at the end of my work day than he does. Is that fair?

Is it fair that I was born white, economically advantaged, intellectually gifted (not a boast, read my bio-I'm not taking credit for my gifts, they just are), relatively attractive (which counts in our society, fair or not), and relatively healthy (as compared, say, to my 33-year old friend who has cancer)?  Doesn't seem fair to me. I didn't do anything to deserve these circumstances and attributes. I got dealt a good hand (a subject I've written about previously in my blog, Why Me?) And I've played the cards fairly well, for sure, and I get to take credit for that, but the initial starting point had nothing to do with fairness.

So, I'm on team Kyrion when it comes to my perspective on fairness. I think Amanda needs to grow up and realize that life isn't fair. It just is. And what we do with what is is what makes us who we are. And that is all the fairness we get in this life. And that applies to all of us. So maybe the field is level after all. Or maybe we are all stumbling around on highly uneven ground. What do you think?  

Assume the Position

I've just read the latest installment of the Jane Yellowrock series, Broken Soul, by Faith Hunter. And I'm delighted to report that this series is getting better with age, which isn't always true, so I'm quite happy when it is. And I love Jane. Just like I love Anita Blake, Meredith Gentry, Pia Cuelebre, Mac Lane and Catherine Russell (Cat). These are powerful women who make me swell with pride that I share their chromosomal makeup. I am woman, hear me roar. In Jane's case, that is a literal statement.

There are so many things I enjoy and relate to in these strong, fierce women, and I know I'll have more to say along the way as we journey together with these blogs. But the subject at hand today is the amazingly realistic way Jane (like Anita, Merry, Cat, and the others before her) assume the mantle of power and authority to take up leadership roles and guide their people away from danger and toward safety, redemption, connection, and fulfillment.  What I find particularly poignant and authentic is the relatively reluctant way Jane steps into her role, but how, once she decides to go there, she picks up the scepter of leadership with strength and purpose. It's a beautiful thing to witness. And it's inspiring to experience the journey with her.

Why wouldn't someone want to assume the position?  It comes with power, authority, respect and deference. People in leadership positions have all sorts of folks sucking up to them and telling them all sorts of things I, for one, want to hear. Like how fabulous I am, how smart, beautiful, clever, witty, funny, strong, real, whatever it is I want people to think about me. And leaders have followers--individuals who live to fulfill our every wish. What's not to like?  Sure, that all comes with a lot of responsibility and accountability and an obligation to meet certain minimum standards. And the reality is that the higher the position, the more burden you get with all the perks.

We could take a page from some of my old government contacts and accept all the fun parts of leadership and sort of forget about the rest of it. You know, take what you like and leave the rest? What's so terrible about that?  Sounds pretty good on the surface to me. 

Except, like the price Jane Yellowrock must pay to bend time to her purposes in Broken Soul, there is a price for taking without giving back and exercising power without compassion or compunction. But the reality also is that lots and lots of toxic leaders are placed in positions of power and authority who then abuse that power, sometimes in incredibly egregious ways. I left a job in the Pentagon once because I couldn't stomach the miscarriages of justice that occurred in the name of kissing some jerk's ass. And there are so many terrible examples of toxic leaders in the world today both in American politics and corporations as well as in the rest of the world.

But I'm digressing fairly far afield, so back to the topic at hand, which involves women in power positions. And the women who inhabit my beloved fantasy books are decidedly not toxic. I think that a healthy dose of reluctance in accepting positions of authority and power speaks to someone who understands the difficulties of leadership and is therefore probably qualified to exercise it. Like Jane. She is no power-hungry megalomaniac. But she is a predator, and she never wants to put herself in a position of being prey. Which, in her case, means taking charge and living large. Which Jane does with aplomb. And grace. And compassion. But what I also enjoyed reading in Jane's evolution from a lone hunter to a responsible and effective leader was her uncertainty and incredulity that anyone would ever take her seriously in such a role. That felt so authentic to me. Because if we aren't questioning ourselves and our qualifications to be doing the things we do, especially when our actions impact other people, then we are probably on a slippery slope to egomania. So Jane's introspection and moments of self doubt are probably indicative of someone well qualified to lead.

And the doubt and introspection are well founded. Lonely is the head that wears the crown and all of that. Lonely and scared and angry and guilty, in fact. Comes with the territory as leaders like Jane make life and death decisions with less than perfect information. Jane experiences first hand the unfortunate results of actions she had taken thinking she understood the situation and finding out belatedly that she was missing crucial facts. Which resulted in good people dying. No wonder Jane is reluctant to assume the position. It's a painful and difficult thing to do. Kind of like a bad game of Twister. 

And maybe women think more about all of the consequences of power and authority more than men do. Or maybe I am extrapolating from a pathetically small sampling of me and Jane and Anita and Cat. But, as I always do, I figure if someone is writing about this, and millions of people are reading about it and voting with their wallets and their reading time, there must be a horse in there somewhere. As in, where there is smoke there is fire. Most of the time.

So, for me, women in positions of authority are not only hot as hell (just ask Bruiser), but also smarter than the average bear. Or Beast. What do you think?

The Other as Hell Spawn

I've just finished The Girl, by Madhuri Blaylock, an intriguing series opener with attractive characters and an original world. I'm definitely looking forward to how the author develops her concepts and characters. I love that this book dives deep into one of the more unfortunate aspects of the human animal, which is to deny humanity to our enemies and competitors. It is a well-documented fact that we humans like to demonize those we hate, to objectify them in order to make ourselves feel better about behaving badly towards them. So, in Ms. Blaylock's book, even her title points to a major theme of the story; the main protagonist is, in fact, just a girl, not the crazed and animalistic demon she is portrayed as being by the powers that be who seek to destroy her.

For the vast majority of the population, it would be unthinkable to kill another human being. But when we need or want to hurt or kill, literally, such as in war, or figuratively, such as in bullying or character assassination, one of the ways we make it easier on ourselves is to think of the "other" as being wholly alien from who we ourselves are. “Not like us” equals OK to demean, degrade, deprive, and destroy. 

How do soldiers prepare to kill fellow humans who happen to wear the uniform of an opposing force?  By making them sub-human and therefore worthy of death. In fact, all military and paramilitary training is designed to help human recruits overcome the natural reticence we all have to take another human life, and to live with the regret that normal, healthy humans experience when we do kill. In another example, we may wonder how whites in America were able to enslave and mistreat their darker-skinned brethren.  The answer is the same: by designating them as only partially human (three-fifths human, to be exact, a little more than half). How did Nazi officers kill Jewish babies in front of their mothers and then go home to play with their own children without a second thought? Because Jews were portrayed as being less than human and therefore in a completely separate category as the Aryan race. How do serial killers torture and kill their victims?  By seeing them as objects, not people. Do you remember the scene in Silence of the Lambs where the senator’s daughter tries to tell the crazed killer her name so that he might see her as human?  Didn’t work, of course.  He loved his dog a lot more than the “thing” in the pit.

And there are many other examples of this very ugly, very human phenomenon.  The rationale behind it must be that we are somehow biologically hardwired to recognize another of our kind and to see ourselves in them so that we are naturally reluctant to kill or damage them in any way because it feels like hurting ourselves.  Therefore, if we want or need to behave badly, we must first rewire our brains so that we do not recognize ourselves in the “other” so that we can destroy with impunity.

And lest we think that this activity is limited to others who take this tendency to the extreme, let me assure you that we are all alike in this way.  It is human nature to decide between two options:  generally, either we identify in or we identify out. So, for example, when we audition to join a new group, be it professional, personal, or religious, we must first decide—or have it decided for us—whether we are a good fit. If we are already in the group, it is up to us to determine whether the candidate is “one of us.”

Some groups are determined by like-mindedness or common benefit, such as special interest groups, hobby groups, or religious and political affiliations.  Some groups are determined by function or purpose, like labor unions or industry associations. Some groups are purely social, and exist mostly to distinguish between “us” and “them.” The Greek system (sororities and fraternities) and exclusive country clubs come to mind in this category. And, of course, not all groups adopt an exclusionary clause—I’m sure there are some groups that genuinely embrace a live and let live approach, but they seem to be the exception, not the rule.

We form groups to define ourselves, to provide a label that can tell us how to act and even how to think.  It is so much easier to color within the lines if we know where they are. We also seek to belong to groups that represent something bigger than we are so that we can remind ourselves that there is more out there than just us.  It’s lonely as a lone wolf.  We want to be part of a pack.  We are hardwired to this too.

Which would be just fine if we didn’t need to take that tendency a step further and promote our own affiliations at the expense of others.  Because while it is true that we can all stand taller on the backs of those who don’t belong, such positioning creates a shaky foundation for growth and authentic expression.  And when we take it to the next level and demonize the other, as The Sanctum does to the girl Madhuri Blaylock’s book, the results can lead as far as death and destruction, as it does in this story.  But Ms. Blaylock also shows us hope that at least some of us can overcome our tendency to exercise the exclusivity clause, and replace it, instead, with a more inclusive approach. I believe that when we overcome our more reflexive responses, and engage the more reflective aspects of our consciousness, we begin to walk the road of authenticity, which, as you know, is one of my primary goals in life.

We don’t need to fear the other.  We certainly don’t need to damage or destroy in our fear.  We can take a page out of Madhuri Blaylock’s book and choose to expand our group, to change our self-definition to include the other.  Because, in truth, we are the other.

Love and Other Distractions

I love being in love. I especially adored the thrill of new love. And, truth be told, I was addicted in many ways to unhealthy infatuation and inappropriate dependence on romantic attachments in my younger days, although I told myself I was just a fool for love. Really, I was just a fool. I was guilty of "the sickly devotion of it all," as Nalini Singh writes in her newest Guild Hunter book, Archangel's Shadows. As I have with the seven Guild Hunter books before it, I'm deeply enjoying the fast-moving plot and the interesting and complex characters Ms. Singh writes. I'm also enjoying the many profound themes that she explores in these novels. I'm only a part of the way through the book and I've already highlighted more sections than I can count to come back to and ponder each passage's significance. The theme I want to explore in today's post is about the nature of real love, as well as the characteristics of the pyrite we often mistake for love, dependent infatuation.

In Archangel's Shadows, Nalini Singh writes about old vampires who keep a "blood family," humans who serve as food but also companions to the vampires with whom they form bonds of love and affection. She contrasts this arrangement with vampires who keep "cattle," humans who serve the same function for a vampire, but whose purpose is a bastardization of what the relationship should look like in its more idealized form. As always with my beloved fantasy novels, and because they include a paranormal element, a skilled author like Ms. Singh is able to highlight aspects of human behavior in an extreme way, which is what she's done here.  In Ms. Singh’s world, vampires are powerful and seductive and they are able to choose among an almost unending selection of humans who compete to become the chosen ones from whom a vampire can take sustenance and sex.  Because it is a seller’s market, and because the currency involves not only money and power, but also status, protection and the ability to relinquish one’s need to make decisions, the vampire is completely in the one up position.

In the Guild Hunter world, just as in our society, there are legions of individuals who seek to trade their bodies and their wills for the privilege of living in a gilded cage.  And these “cattle,” or, perhaps more descriptively “sheep” convince themselves that they gripped by grand passion, as one of the protagonists describes his feelings for the vampire who convinced him to surrender his humanity. Humans do this a lot.  Of course, there are men and women who are more calculated in their quests to achieve standing and security through the barter of their youth and beauty.  But many humans in our world who want to achieve fame and fortune through association with another desire to wrap what amounts to blatant prostitution in the cover of true love and mutual caring.  As Ms. Singh highlights with the exaggerated nature of the power discrepancies between humans, vampires, angels and archangels, individuals of every conceivable makeup do the same thing.  It seems to be the nature of the beast.

And while this inequitable trade is interesting in itself for what it says about human as well as supernatural nature, the issue at hand (I know, I’ve digressed again) concerns the opportunity costs of infatuation, and a useful test to determine whether seemingly deep feelings for another are true gold or fool’s gold. In other words, how can we tell the difference between infatuation and love?  I believe that Archangel’s Shadows provides some significant signposts to authenticity in this arena for those of us who care to look.

As described by Ms. Singh, infatuation, usually coupled with unhealthy dependency, robs us of ambition and the desire to do something with our lives.  Infatuation is an all-consuming feeling that takes over our thinking and infuses our bodies with the chemical equivalent of a particularly good high.  Infatuation causes us to become completely distracted from reality, just like the characters in this book who fail to recognize how wholly they are being used until they no longer serve their purpose (because they are too old to appeal any longer), when they are discarded, although they are convinced it is all out of love. Infatuation blinds us much more effectively than love, in fact.  But more than being blind, fool’s love binds our hands behind our backs and serves to ensure that we accomplish nothing of note, because there is no space in the infatuated brain and heart for activity that does not involve the object of our infatuation.

By contrast, true love encourages our personal growth, and supports our being or becoming the best and most complete person we can be. True love does not distract, it enhances our lives, and serves as the foundation from which to take risks, personal, professional, and emotional, because we feel secure in our base, supported in our endeavors. Real love does not result in the abandonment of our dreams; real love helps us to make those dreams a reality. Real love magnifies reality while infatuation and dependency dissipate reality.  It is an excellent metric by which to evaluate one’s feelings.  By its fruit the tree is known.

In Archangel’s Shadows, the false feelings generated between predatory vampires and their cattle are contrasted with the true bonds between Ashwini and Janvier. Their love broadens and deepens their respective life’s passions and purpose.  When love is real, dependence is transformed into intimacy-creating vulnerability when we can reveal our innermost selves to the other and be safe and cherished for all that we are. False love often finds us trying to conceal various aspects of ourselves that we perceive to be less than attractive or acceptable.

So, as always, I am indebted to one of my favorite authors for illuminating reality through the medium of fantasy. There is so much depth to be explored, and so much rich reality to be pondered.  And all of this reality and expansion of my consciousness demonstrates clearly, to me at least, that my abiding passion for these books is true love, not merely infatuation or dependence. Because while these wonderful stories do help divert and entertain me, allowing me to put down the burdens of my life for a brief time, I also emerge from this diversion more informed and more aware than I was when I started. True love and grand passion together.  Yippee! 

Getting Past Our Pasts

Why is it that men who get around get lucky and women who do the same get slut-shamed? Why is it considered an advantage for men to be sexually experienced but that same experience makes women used goods? I actually know a man who asked his girlfriend, who is a friend of mine, whether her vagina had been worn out by its many encounters. Really?! Should I ask him if his penis has gotten smaller from all the friction he's generated using it--like a half licked candy cane? I can't believe there are really men out there who still think this way. But there are.

Why am I thinking about the haters today? It's because I just finished the new Kresley Cole Immortals After Dark offering, Dark Skye. Among other interesting themes, this book explores how two individuals, a virgin male and the sexually experienced woman he loves get past her past, which he finds both repugnant and hurtful. He has spent hundreds of years knowing she's given herself to other men (they were broken up, after all) and it's been eating him alive. When they finally get together, his attitude is one of forbearance and condescension; he feels she should be grateful for his willingness to consider her as a mate given her state of tarnish. Thankfully, his sterling mate spends quality time disabusing him of this Neanderthal attitude and explaining in no uncertain terms that she refuses to feel bad or ashamed for her choice to exercise a healthy sexuality. I was cheering her on every step of the way.

Dark Skye is the story of a Sorceri princess and a prince of the Vrekeners, creatures of the Lore of uncertain provenance. The two were childhood sweethearts whose story goes horribly wrong. She is his mate, the only woman who can complete him. She believes he killed her family. Needless to say, they have a bumpy road to achieve their HEA. But it's fun and exciting along the way, as it always is always with Kresley Cole.

I've always figured that men value virginity because they don't want to suffer by comparison. Which makes sense, of course, as most men have little idea how to satisfy a woman (see my post What Women Want). But the whole practice of making women feel bad for enjoying sex and celebrating their sexuality makes me crazy. And I become enraged when I hear about men who think less of women (or worse, their own woman) because the women sowed their own wild oats before settling down to domesticity. Personally, I want to be with someone who has been around the block once or twice and has chosen me above all others.  I'll take on the competition any day of the week. Bring. It. On. Similarly, I want to be with someone who had already sown his own oats. I'd hate for him to get a wild hair later in life and wonder what he's missed. I really don’t share well with others.  

So back to the double standard we call gender equality. Seems grossly unfair to me.  And at first, I thought things were getting better when I listened to women talk about men who are “players” in a negative way. But then it quickly became obvious that the connotations are divergent enough to matter.  Slut-shaming is a terrible term in itself and says something about the attitude implied by the nomenclature.  When women talk about a man being a “player,” they are usually using the term in a derogatory way to indicate that the man is incapable of making a commitment—that he “plays” women, rather than being a “keeper.”  Taken this way, it is a man’s lack of desire to commit that makes him undesirable—not that he’s dipped his wick in innumerable candles. Moreover, a man who is a “player” is considered to be in the power position—a player is someone who holds the cards, so to speak.

When a woman is referred to as a slut, she is not considered to be in control—she is considered to be the one who is controlled—controlled by her nether regions, or at least using them to get ahead in the world. Which usually implies she has no other discernable gifts or talents. She is tossed about just like a ship on the ocean—being buffeted from pillar to post.  A “player” is looking to avoid relationships.  A “slut” is using her body to coax a man into hanging onto her for good.  Seems fairly inequitable, no?

And so, this is why I love Kresley Cole and her fellow paranormal and urban fantasy authors so much.  Each and every one of Ms. Cole’s heroines enjoys a healthy sexuality and healthy sex—defined as anything consenting, otherwise unattached adults want to do between the sheets, or in the car, or in the trees or the fields, or the hot tub for that matter.  And these women apologize to absolutely no one for their tastes or proclivities.  They are women, hear them roar—and moan, and pant and gasp for breath as they relish the men they are with and the heat they generate.  Slut-shaming is not tolerated in the world of Kresley Cole, or Laurell Hamilton, Thea Harrison, Nalini Singh, Jeaniene Frost, or Patricia Briggs, among others too numerous to name. All of these amazing authors’ amazing heroines are strong, independent women who are not ashamed of their bodies, their sexuality or the number of partners they’ve had, whether that number is high or low.

The point is, it doesn’t matter as long as everyone knows the rules. For Kresley Cole’s Dark Skye heroine, what she did when she believed her relationship to be irretrievably over was her business.  And her virgin lover was finally able to get over himself and over her past as he understood that once she committed to him, what came before became irrelevant to their current reality. Past performance is not indicative of future outcomes. Isn’t that what the stock brokers tell us?

Dark Skye is a great book with an important message. There should be only one standard for both men and women.  And what comes before shouldn’t impact what happens now and into the future. And true love trumps playing the field every time.

Worth Fighting For

I just finished Jill Myles' Mirrorlight, a short story about time travel and uncontrollable lust. Gotta love it. And I love Ms. Myles, aka Jessica Sims, aka Jessica Clare. Talented lady and clearly a little schizophrenic. But I like that in an author. Never gets stale or boring when you get to read completely different kinds of stories with different characters. And sometimes I really like a good short story. Not too much commitment involved and anthologies are a wonderful way to meet and audition new authors. Or spend time with those I know I already enjoy. Like Ms. Clare/Sims/Myles. But, this is not the subject at hand. I know, you are shocked. Today I'm pondering a question raised by Ms. Myles' story, namely, what do we care enough to fight for?

As always, I will speak for myself and hope that you all will tell me how you feel about all this when you read this post. But as the heroine in Mirrorlight was being berated for her apathy and the lack of objection with which she faced the loss of her job and her fiancé when the going got just a smidge tough, I had to ask myself, what was I willing to go to any length to have or to keep?  And what does that even mean, anyway?

As a parent, I know I am willing to fight for my kids. Usually, though, that doesn't mean anything more strenuous than meeting with a teacher or another parent to defend one of my sons against an unjust accusation or unfair treatment. Recently, I got into it with my neighbor who claimed my kid had done something bad to his kid. But I'm not sure this counted as fighting for something.

Now, it is true that nothing I've ever let go of didn't have claw marks on it. I'm actually not so great at the whole letting go thing. I didn't even break up with my former fiancé until more than a year after we had "postponed" our wedding. And I've stayed in jobs way past the expiration date more times than I care to remember.

But it's not clear to me that any of that counts as fighting for something I felt passionately about. I think all of those instances were more about inertia and fear of moving on and doing something new. And why am I having such a hard time answering this question?

What do we fight for? Well, in the literal sense, as a society, we fight our enemies, terrorists, criminals, drugs, poverty and probably other things we are supposedly at war with. War requires fighting. And presumably, as a society, we believe that we need to fight these things. And for those in the armed forces, or law enforcement, or economic development or counterterrorism, there are front lines that are dangerous and that embody fighting in its most concrete form.

But what about the rest of us?  Do we fight for anything?  Does anything stir our passion?  Sadly, and maybe I'm just being very short sighted, but the only things I can think of that seem to stir up passion these days is hate. As a society, we seem to be passionate about hating the other, however the other, those who are not like us, is defined.

I don't think hate is what Ms. Myles had in mind with her question. I think she was asking us about our motivation to passion not based in hate or fear, but rather love and compassion and connection. What are we willing to fight for in that arena?

I was a bit saddened recently when one of my sons decided he wanted to ask a girl to homecoming.  Which was great. But he wasn't willing to ask her until he had received some assurances that she was going to say yes. He really wanted to go with her, but wasn't willing to fight for her, which in this particular instance could be defined as being willing to risk rejection. He wanted more of a sure thing. The equivalent of a fixed fight, where the outcome is assured ahead of time. I tried to dissuade him from his chosen path, but he was having none of it.

Aversion to risk does not equate to fighting for something we really want. To fight implies the possibility of loss, of failure. Which is why the choice to fight is so hard. None of us likes to risk failure. God only knows what might happen if we fail. So we don't fight. We throw in the towel before the referee has even blown the whistle. We walk away from the fray. If we don't fight, we can't lose. 

Except it doesn't work like that. Not really. If we don't fight, we lose for sure. With the only consolation being that we can tell ourselves that we might have won if we'd wanted to. We could have triumphed if we'd decided to engage. But we didn't. So we can tell ourselves the loss didn't count and protect our fragile egos from the reality of our cowardice. Unlike Ms. Myles' character in Mirrorlight, most of us don't have a fairy godmother hanging around offering to provide courage. Most of us rely on the liquid variety instead, which only serves to obscure reality and steal time away from us so that we don't pay attention to the losses.

So, I will continue to think about what I'm willing to fight for, and what that battle might look like in my current life. Because I'll be damned if I'm willing to give up on something important because I'm afraid my ego will take a little beating. I think I'm more afraid of surrender than of fighting.  But that is another post entirely, isn't it? So stay tuned. And until then, maybe we can let Ms. Myles play the role of fairy godmother for just a few minutes and encourage all of us to fight for what we want. Who knows, we might get it. And isn't that better than telling ourselves that we could have been a contender?  

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

When I was young, I was fairly lost.  I was lost in the sense that I didn’t really know who I was or what I liked or even what I cared about.  I was lost insofar as I had no real ability to stand up for myself except with friends who were even more lost than I was, and those relationships look fairly abusive and manipulative in hindsight.  Not pretty.  In my defense, no one ever told me how to find myself, nor was that an activity encouraged by my highly controlling mother.

But there are degrees of lost, and in retrospect, the place where I lost myself the most completely was in my romantic relationships.  Seemed like I couldn’t wait to hand over my personality and all of my free will to the man of the hour who I made my Svengali as I happily assumed the role of Galatea.  The theme of the dominant alpha male is one I continue to reexamine.  It intrigues me.  One question that I ponder with regularly is how to maintain my own identity in the context of a relationship in which I feel inferior in some way.  This is one of my favorite themes in paranormal fantasy, where the alpha males are often exaggerated and the women who love them need to figure out how to keep from being sucked into that event horizon.

Three of my very favorite books/series explore this theme with mastery (there are many others as well), but the ones that come immediately to mind are Thea Harrison’s Dragon Bound (Dragos and Pia), Nalini Singh’s Angel’s Blood (Raphael and Elena) and the Fever Books by Karen Marie Moning (Barrons And Mac).  I love, love, love these books, and I think the main reason is because these women succeed beautifully in maintaining themselves in relationships with men (beings, really- none of them are actually men) who are much, much older, more powerful and very used to the world accommodating itself to their desires and needs.  In each case, part of the attraction for the male is that their chosen woman does not back down in the face of their displeasure or even wrath.   And it takes some huge, brass, hairy stones to do that.  The fact that this sort of courage and intelligence comes in a beautiful, feminine package is a revelation for each of these males.

So let’s explore that “reality” further: that which attracts these males who exist at the very top of the food chain is that these women are most definitely not falling over themselves to people please or to give the big man everything he demands.  They have the intestinal fortitude to be who they are and stand their ground without succumbing to the pressure of acquiescing to everything their stranger, more powerful partner wants.

I absolutely love reading about women who embrace these relationships and then go on to thrive within them.  I can’t say I’ve seen a ton of that in real life, however.  It is such a difficult feat to stand in our own power without aggression or defiance or the need to try to dominate others ourselves.  But to be who we are and let the other be who he (or she) is and to negotiate a path where we can both stand together—together—that is quite the rare achievement.

And their achievement is a fluid one—a slippery little sucker as Julia Roberts described her escargot in Pretty Woman.  To stand together in mutual power while each maintains his or her own personal power over time is even more difficult.  It takes consciousness, respect, tolerance, patience, compassion, and strength.  And to be successful, both partners need to embody these superior personality characteristics and avoid the temptation to be petty, or controlling, or demeaning, or demanding, or inappropriately needy or aloof.  Oh my God, I’m exhausted just writing about the myriad requirements of a healthy, vibrant relationship. 

But, I adore reading about them because it provides me with some guidance, direction, and inspiration to achieve the same in my own life and relationships.

The dance of dominance in any relationship involves some fancy footwork for sure.  I know that in my own marriage we work very hard to compromise where we can, but to stand firm when an issue touches on a fundamental philosophy.  Of course, one hopes that when choosing a life partner we not only seek to look deeply into each other’s eyes, but that we are also looking for a partner who is looking out into the world in a similar fashion.  Holding complimentary world views is an important element of successful partnership.

Another important element is the ability—and the willingness—to learn from each other and to defer to each other’s strengths.  These are particularly poignant characteristics of the relationships depicted between my favorite fictional characters by Thea Harrison, Nalini Singh, and Karen Marie Moning.  Each of these amazing authors’ uber alpha males are willing to learn from their females and to be changed by their love.  And witnessing that evolution is the very best aspect of these amazing books.  I am able to come back to my marriage (and other relationships) enriched by the experience of spending time with these magnificent make believe characters.  And all of this reading is way cheaper than marriage counseling or psychotherapy, so I feel inspired and clever at the same time.

Truth or Dare

I just finished The Dreamshifter by Elle Boca. It is the very promising first novel in a series that boasts an interesting premise about a race of beings with superhuman capabilities. I'm already looking forward to the next one. But before I move on, I need to spend some quality time thinking about the deeper messages of the first book. On my mind today is a passage from the story where the main character, Amy, consults a fortuneteller who says that Amy's gentle and generous nature will make her a target for unscrupulous people seeking to take advantage of her. But, says the psychic, it doesn't matter, and she exhorts Amy to remain true to herself. I love, love, love this message, and it's not one we hear often enough, in my opinion.

It is rare that someone tells us, “you will be hurt and you will be unfairly exploited and you won't necessarily get back the good you put out into to the world, but, hey, don't worry about it, and for God's sake, don't let it stop you from continuing to be kind and trusting and giving.”  I'm fairly certain that was not a lesson I was taught at home, at school, at work or by popular culture these days. I'm pretty sure Jesus said something about turning the other cheek, but who can hear His voice over the discussion about who's getting voted off the island this week or the other reality shows where cutthroat completion is king. Or over the thousand-decibel noise coming out of the football stadiums where men are getting their heads bashed in and their knees ripped apart to entertain us. Nope, letting other people exploit our perceived weaknesses is not a message commonly promulgated to the masses.

So, why should Amy in Elle Boca's book, or we, for that matter, listen to the psychic and stay open, loving, kind, generous, giving and trusting? What's in it for us? Quite a lot, as it turns out.  But in acknowledging that fact, I start to sound like a smarmy game show host telling everyone, "Be nice and win fabulous prizes" or some such nonsense like that. And that is not my intention at all. We shouldn't be open, trusting and generous as a means to an end. We should do it for the same reason the fortuneteller urges Amy to be that way; it is our nature. It is the end itself. 

Ostensibly, this blog is about learning to live authentically through the lessons learned from reading paranormal and urban fantasy. But I haven't spent too much time unpacking the box called authentic living and providing any sort of real definition for what I mean by that. So it’s high time to start.

I think that the most important aspect of living authentically is being true to ourselves. Sounds simple, or at least vague enough to be simplistic. Because how many of us really know who we are or what our real nature is? So many of us spend time trying to find ourselves when we were never lost in the first place. It's not a function of finding ourselves; it's a function of creating ourselves. Or, at the very least, co-creating ourselves.

In my world, we are all good, and generous and kind and loving. That is the true nature of all humans. Sometimes, we cover that up with all manner of garbage and we become who we are not, selfish and stingy and mean. But I don't believe we begin that way. We begin with the trust of the innocent and the rest of the nastiness is just learned behavior. And no, I'm not naive. I understand that evil exists and that some poor unfortunates can't help being “wrong” somehow or being a bad seed, and some of them are born that way. But those sad souls are damaged, not built according to the blueprint. And some of us, of course, choose a path of impairment and disease. But again, that is not who we are or who we were meant to be. 

Like Amy in The Dreamshifter, it is our nature to be giving and trusting. And it is the task of a lifetime to nurture that fragile flame and keep it burning against the strong winds of the world that would extinguish it.

It is so easy to give up on love and trust when we've been betrayed. It is so easy to extrapolate from the few to the many and decide that it is best to mount a good offense as an effective defensive strategy. Once we've been exploited, how easy is it to lash out at the world and strike first before anyone can hurt us? Or lock up our hearts to be sure that they never get stomped again. Too easy.

And that would be a mistake. Because being open, giving, trusting and loving is an end in itself. Its own reward, in essence. It just feels good to give, at least to me. I have always loved giving gifts and support and empowering people to be their best. And sometimes, my inclination toward generosity had resulted in my getting very, very burned. Betrayed. Made a fool of. It has definitely happened. And it does not feel good at all. And for a time, hopefully not too long, I might entertain fantasies of revenge and self defense. I might contemplate building a wall around my heart or around my wallet, depending on the nature of the betrayal.

But in the end, I've always decided against it. Revenge is bad for the soul. Getting back at someone hurts me a lot more than it hurts them. Retribution corrodes the heart and dulls the zest for life. No thank you, not for me.

Because, like Amy in The Dreamshifter, it is my nature to be open, loving, generous, kind, giving and trusting. Because, unlike Amy, I'm human. And that's how we roll. 

The Choices We Make

I have been thinking about choices lately. About how we perceive the choices we have and how we make the choices we do and how these choices define who we are, especially how we are seen by others. These thoughts have been inspired by Rose Montague, and her very interesting series opener, Jade, which I recently read a second time, as the plot had stayed with me, as had the character of Jade and I felt the need to spend some time with her again to help me clarify this line of thinking that has captured my attention so completely.

I think we all do the best we can with the information we have available at the time.  Jade is a prime example of this phenomenon. Because of her singular status and her ability to preposition herself pretty much any way she wanted, Jade had some interesting choices to make. Some of which had some interesting and unintended consequences. Kind of like the rest of us here in the real world. 

So once again we find truth in fantasy and quite a bit of food for thought along with a fun read. Two birds, one stone, which works for me every time. Because you've got to figure that if supernatural beings with supernatural abilities and supernatural choices can't seem to get it right, how the hell can we mere mortals expect to have any chance at all?

The problem with choices is that there is no such thing as perfect information. And there are so many choices to be made. Every day, day in and day out. Sometimes, the choices are big, or seem that way, and sometimes the choices are small, or at least appear so. And sometimes, the choices are so overwhelming we don't make any choices at all. Which is, of course, a choice in itself.

Why is it so hard to make choices, and why do we so often feel like we don't have any?  One thing I have learned slowly and with difficulty, is that there are always choices. We may not love any or all of the choices, but there's always a choice. I remember when I've been through some of the darkest periods in my life that the hardest part has always been the feeling of being cornered. Of having no options. Of shooting down every single suggestion and every single supposed way out as being impossible, or impractical or illegal (no, one cannot kill people who betray us or hurt us or mess us up in some way, more's the pity). That is one of the worst feelings in the world. Where there aren't any choices, or it feels that way, we lose hope. And without hope we fall into despair.

So choices are important. Good choices are even more important. So why do we so often make bad choices?  And then justify them, at least to ourselves, as doing the right thing?  I know I've been guilty of this on many more than one occasion. Like when I chose to stay with men who were clearly bad for me. Or to go to a party I knew would lead to trouble. I've written about this before click here about how we tell ourselves, "just this once" and make a choice we know is stupid. Have any of us have ever gotten behind the wheel even though we knew we might have had one too many?  Or made a choice to pass along juicy gossip even when we knew that it might not be true and even if it were, our only motivation in sharing it is our own pleasure of telling secrets or making ourselves feel better or bigger or more important by stepping on someone else? Or how about when we take the easier, softer way and put off till tomorrow or next week or next year a decision that only serves to kick the can down the road without resolving a damn thing?  Admit it, we all do it. We make less than the best decision in the name of expedience and tell ourselves we really didn't have a choice at all. 

And while our motives are usually pure--at least in our own minds, the truth is usually a bit more complex. I make choices every single day that are sometimes based in deep denial or wishful or magical thinking.  I think this is because most of us, in our heart of hearts, really want to be able to choose to do what we want, when we want how we want.  As a result we organize our perceptions in such a way that we convince ourselves that we have no other viable options other than the ones we wanted to pick all along.

The problem with this approach is that it doesn't take us down the path of authentic living. It takes us down the path of self-deception and bad choices—choices that do not reflect our highest, most authentic selves. When we are honest, at least with ourselves, about our motives and desires, we can at least make our choices based on self-awareness rather than self-deception. After all, we are the most gullible to dishonesty when it comes from within. Especially when we want something badly, or we are afraid of making difficult decisions.

So, what to do about these choices that life keeps forcing us to make?  For me, the answer is deceptively simple but very far from easy. I believe that our authentic selves, the purity of our souls underneath the fear and the ego and the wishful thinking we pile on top of it, knows exactly what the right choices are, given the available information. And when we make choices that come from our authentic being—that part of us that knows truth—and that part exists for all of us—then we always make good choices, even of the outcomes are not exactly what we expected.

I want my choices to reflect my highest, authentic self.  And sometimes, even often, they do. But not all the time. Because I am human, and I experience fear, anger, insecurity, jealousy, envy, greed, and all manner of less-than-attractive (or even downright unsavory) character traits. Sucks to be human some days. But that is who and what I am. And I can choose to accept that or make the inevitably doomed choice to try to be something other than the flawed creature that I am. Getting through my days. Doing my best. Making the smartest choices I can in any given moment. Being honest. At the very least with myself.

And I can take some inspiration, as I so often do, from my beloved fictional characters in my beloved fantasy books, like the inimitable Jade, and feel connected to her creator, Rose Montague, who clearly understands the complexity of choice and the dilemmas that it can cause for even those who aren't as human as the rest of us. And, for today, I can choose to keep reading my beloved books, which is always a good choice. 

Defying Destiny

I’m totally taken with the title of Jeaniene Frost’s new series, Broken Destiny (not to mention being taken with the opening book itself, The Beautiful Ashes). The books are about Ivy and Adrian, the last of their lines descending from David and Judas, respectively.  Spoiler alert: just as Judas betrayed Jesus, Adrian is destined to betray Ivy, who is the key to ensuring the continuation of the human race and preventing the ascendance of Satan.  No biggie. Have I mentioned how much I love these books?  How could I not with such a great premise? But, back to the central concept of the series (well, I‘m making an educated guess about that, of course, as Ms. Frost has only written one book so far—and do consider this a plea for additional offerings, Jeaniene!) which is about resisting the inevitable.  On the other hand, is it inevitable if we resist?  I’m taking another wild stab here and predicting that, over time, Adrian will be able to fight fate and break his destiny and that he and Ivy will have their HEA.  Which is awesome for them.  But what about the rest of us?  Can we, too, defy destiny and change course to achieve more optimistic outcomes?  Can I abandon the alliteration already?  Seems not.

So, is there such a thing as destiny?  Do we know it when we see it?  And if such a thing exists, it is inexorable? Was Calvin correct and everything is already predetermined even as we are conceived?  For me, it can’t be.  I refuse to believe in predestination.  Because the whole argument behind it is a self-licking ice cream cone, in my opinion (with apologies to those who disagree, of course). The idea of an unbreakable destiny negates the concept of free will and that dog just won’t hunt in my world (OK—no more military metaphors—they drive my husband crazy and no one else gets them—I got it!).

I believe we can overcome our upbringings and our DNA, we can break vicious cycles, we can defy expectations and blow them away. We can also be less than and lower the bar for ourselves.  Anything is possible—or at least that’s one of the things I tell myself so that I can get through the day with some semblance of sanity.  Because, hell, we live the greatest country in the world where upward mobility and social and economic progress are integral tenets of the American Dream.  And I still believe, I do. In fact, I am the product of an American Dream that my father realized half a century ago.  He was an impoverished immigrant who came to this country with nothing but the clothes on his back and he parlayed hard work and grit into tremendous success.  Totally inspiring.  He defied his destiny that seemed to dictate that he would live, toil and die in poverty and obscurity to climb to the heights of personal and professional success.  No submission to the inevitable there.  No predestination for my Daddy, no way.  Thankfully for him, and for me and the rest of my family.

And what about all of us whose genetics incline us toward cardiovascular disease, cancer, Alzheimer’s and autoimmune disorders?  Must we plan on inevitable illness and decline because we lost the genetic lottery? I can’t believe that either, because if it’s true, I’d better get going on discharging the rest of my bucket list, because the end is nigh. My family members are genetic disasters in terms of sickness and degeneration—you name it, we have it in my genetic makeup, and it’s a scary thought for sure.  And, as a result of my DNA’s predispositions, I work hard to maintain my health and beat the odds—defy my destiny of ill health and early death through the choices I make every day to take care of myself.

I believe we are co-creators of our destiny. We make choices. And some choices are harder than others. But the right choice has to be harder. Otherwise it isn't a choice.  The issue of choice is complex, and I will write more about it later, so we won’t go into it here. Suffice it to say that defying destiny is not for the faint-hearted.  Just ask Adrian.  He’s working his ass off trying to break his destiny, and entertain us along the way.  And let me say right here and now that he is doing a truly bang-up job of all of it.

Sometimes, on the other hand, instead of defying our destiny, our task is to try to live up to it. In breaking his own destiny, for example, my father created a new destiny for me to uphold and honor with my own life and choices. Do I want to do less than my beloved father?  No way.  I want to make him proud, even if he’s not still with me here in this plane or on this planet anymore, I know he’s out there somewhere, wondering if I will overcome the obstacles in my path to shine as brightly as he did.  Because one can break one’s destiny in a negative way as well, when we do the Limbo dance and see how low we can go, instead of soaring higher and reaching farther.

So, whatever our destinies tell us should be in the cards for us, our lives and our futures, the question is whether we will create our own realities and define our own destinies so that we can either live up to previously-established high standards or blow low expectations out of the water with our stellar performances in life.  Because, as Ms. Frost so ably describes, it’s up to us.  It always was and it always will be. That is the nature of destiny, broken or otherwise.

Paying Attention

This is a second post about Laurell K. Hamilton’s new Meredith Gentry novel, A Shiver of Light.  The book has given me a lot of food for thought, and clearly more than one blog post.  Laurell Hamilton is one of my very favorite authors and the Anita Blake and Meredith Gentry series are some of the best I’ve ever read.  Her books are not for the faint-hearted, however.  The level of violence and very graphic, very alternative sex is off the charts, and a reader needs to be prepared for that.  I love it, of course. I love the action and the intensity and the vibrancy of the books. But lately, her books have become significantly more introspective and descriptive.  And, in truth, this has not been a trend I’ve appreciated.  But this time, as I read the new novel, I was called to consider why I was unhappy with the slower pace and increased introspection.  I was called to pay attention to how, why and to what I am inclined to pay attention and what these inclinations have to teach me.

I have always preferred action to scenery, plot progression to character development and movement to stasis.  I have always set my sights on the destination, the goal, the ending, the last page.  And while I’ve never been one to cheat and read the end before I get there, I’ve always enjoyed seeking signposts along the way that might tell me how it’s all going to work out in the end.  This has led me to spending time looking for foreshadowing (as I’ve mentioned, Charlaine Harris clearly broadcasts Sookie’s final choices and future path beginning in book 1 for those who were paying attention—why anyone was surprised, I’ll never understand).  It’s also given me a penchant for tarot and rune readings, and even led me to do some research on these channeling techniques myself.

So, I do pay attention.  The question at hand, however, involves that which captures and holds my attention, and whether I need to widen my aperture a bit, which I’m beginning to suspect I need to do.

In A Shiver of Light, the faerie princess Meredith spends a lot of time noticing a lot of what I would normally consider minutiae, that which would fall below the level of my notice in real life.

And as I read about the things that Meredith considered attention-worthy, my mind began to drift, and I noticed myself beginning to skim through whole paragraphs, rather than reading them all the way through.  And I felt compelled to stop and think about what I was doing.  Maybe I was missing something here.  Maybe I should go back and read more slowly, savor more sweetly, as it were. And then, the messages started coming fast and furious that, yes, indeed, I was missing quite a lot, in fact.

They say the devil is in the details, and who wants to dance with the devil?  Not me, of course, so I tended to gloss over the details of my life and stick to the major plot developments.  I’ve come to realize that this has possibly been a big mistake and a course correction is probably in order.

Merry notices the smallest things, using all her senses, so that we are treated to detailed descriptions of what she sees, hears, feels, tastes, and smells.  She notices minute changes in the eyes and expressions of the people she loves.  She notices when someone’s subtle body language shifts, and when a tone of voice indicates surprise, unhappiness or joy.  She attends to her environment, noticing the blessings of her Goddess in bringing life back to the land in all its smallest increments.  And as I experienced all of these events through the magic of reading, I’ve been reflecting on the misguided thinking that led me to conclude that attending to the small stuff meant that my life and my world were correspondingly restricted.

I’ve spent a lot of my life believing that I needed to keep my eyes on the prize, my head in the game, and avoid being distracted by the shiny objects that litter the periphery.  But I was dead wrong about all of that, I’ve come to believe.  I think the ability to be present for the small moments of life, to notice the really little things, is a blessing that many of us fail to recognize or embrace. 

Recently a friend highlighted this particular reality in a very visceral way.  This friend shares a gratitude list with me every night.  It is a wonderful gift to read about all that she finds in the world to be grateful for each day.  And her lists are not the usual “thanks for my family, my health, the roof over my head and the food on my plate” kinds of things.  No, my friend’s gratitudes include the baby woodpeckers that hatched in a nest in her back yard, and the opportunity to sit for a while with the sun on her face in the park, enjoying a view of the lake, and the pleasant exchange she had with the cashier at the grocery story.  Her lists point to what she attends to, and by extension, what she values, and it is a beautiful thing to receive each day.  Like Merry’s notice to the smallness of life, such attention actually points to a life lived large, a life of meaningful presence.

So, I don’t think the devil is in the details after all.  I think perhaps that’s where we can find God, or Goddess, or whatever points us toward the Divine in life.

Paying It Forward

So, I'm still thinking about Lilo Abernathy's awesome series opener, The Light Who Shines. The characters and plot have stayed with me and I find myself wondering what mysteries will be revealed in the next book. Today, I'm specifically thinking about the character of Jack Tanner, a Daylight Vampire who loves and protects the main protagonist, Blue, who is the Light Who Shines, even though we don't really know what that means yet. One of the fascinating aspects of Jack's character is his philanthropic activities. This is a man who puts his time and money toward many worthy charities and is clearly one of the good guys. And when Blue asks him about his charitable tendencies, he explains that he is paying it forward against the inevitable time when he, like all Vampires, will succumb to bloodlust and kill someone.

I found this idea of paying it forward against future bad behavior to be fascinating. It reminded me a bit of the Leon Uris Classic, QB7, in which a pillar of the community is accused of Nazi war crimes. In that book (and excellent movie), no one can believe that this upstanding gentleman whose life is filled with good deeds could possibly be the monster portrayed in the trial. But in the end (spoiler alert!), it comes out beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man is, in fact, guilty of heinous crimes against humanity. And that his subsequent lifetime of altruism was undertaken in an effort to make up for his past sins.

I find this whole concept of balance in judgment to be arresting, as it were. Is it truly possible to make amends that negate a terrible act? Either ahead of time like Jack Tanner (I love that name, by the way), or after the fact, like the guy in QB7?  I think, as imperfect humans, we really need to believe it is possible. Our whole justice system is based on the notion of paying our debts to society when we transgress and behave in an antisocial manner. And if the debt is deemed too big, at least in some places, we kill people here in America to "make up" for wrongs they have committed. Apparently the whole "eye for an eye" thing is an enduring value for many people. Personally, I think such a philosophy has the potential to leave the whole world blind.  Just sayin'.

I much prefer the Jack Tanner approach. He's determined to do as much good as possible before his inevitable fall from grace. If we went with the retributive justice approach (an eye for an eye), Jack (and all the Daylight Vampires in Lilo Abernathy's world) would be put down like rabid dogs against the time when they would take human life. In such a world, the inevitability of their committing murder would guarantee them a preemptive execution at the hands of a terrified populace. Such action would preclude any good these Vampires might accomplish in the world before their descent to bestiality and mindless bloodlust. Would that be a fair trade?  What would the people who have benefitted from Jack's largesse and generosity think about this? Would they consider it a just exchange?

Ms. Abernathy doesn't explore these questions, and, of course it wouldn't advance her complex and interesting plot at all to do so. But we can certainly think about the implications of the issues she has raised.  For me, I need to believe that the good we do can outweigh the bad. I also believe that the bad weighs more than the good, so we need to make sure our good deeds seriously outnumber the bad ones, just like Jack does.

I find this concept important to remember when doling out praise and criticism and when balancing my gratitude against my complaints. The negative is heavier than the positive, so it's important to make sure it all balances out by doing more good than bad, being more grateful than dissasatisfied, and offering more accolades than corrections. As the saying goes, one "Oh, shit" trumps a hundred attaboys. Sad, but true.

So we need to take our cue from Jack Tanner and keep trudging the road of good deeds and positive thinking and acting against the inevitable time in the future (or perhaps as compensation for less-than-stellar past performances) when we don't hit the mark of right action. Which happens. Sometimes more than others.  

Doing the right thing is always the right thing. Especially in light of the fact that no one always does the right thing. Which makes doing the right thing the right thing to do to balance out the times when we stray and do the wrong thing.  Because you know it’s going to happen.  Today, tomorrow, or the next, we will fall, because that is what humans do.  It’s our nature.  Hopefully, we won’t kill anyone.  But there are lots of ways to transgress, and most of us will explore a wide variety of those activities.

So, let’s all pay it forward and perform as many good deeds and random acts of kindness as we can.  Let’s tip the scales in our favor, and enjoy the pleasure of doing well by doing good. Just like Jack.