The corruption of power (sort of)

Wow. They say there’s nothing that corrupts like power. How true! And nothing that makes you feel that you have power like having comments on one of your deathless posts. Well, to be accurate that should be comment (singular). So… I wrote my last incredibly witty and wise and (fill in with the appropriate laudatory adjective of your choice) post and–gasp!–somebody read it and commented!!! Now I feel I can move mountains, or at least the molehills from which they are made. Dang! The comments are there–FOR MY APPROVAL!! Or NOT!! I get to decide whose words are worthy of being preserved on this, my blog. With a keystroke I can welcome the commentator or banish him or her to outer cyberspace. Hah!

And so I am flexing my digit, preparing to make that decision–accept or reject? Off with his head or jam tomorrow? To the Gulag or the banquet table? Am I drunk or stoned? Neither. Just been smelling paint fumes all day.

OK, Paul. I have approved your comment. As they say in Yorkshire, Tha is most welcome here. And it’s wonderful to hear from you after such a long time and great to know you’re writing! And to anyone else reading this, Paul Strain is one of the smartest people I know! (And he has the excellent good taste to like my blog.)

Ah, the paint fumes are starting to leave my head. Too bad. Now I’m starting to feel normal again. Flowers no longer grow in the pavement. Oh, by the way–it was latex paint and I’m allergic to latex in any form, in case you were wondering.

So I guess I wasn’t really corrupted by the power of being read and contacted by a reader after all. Just latexed.

Thought for the day: Pity the woman who confused her birth control pills with her tranquilizer. She now has twelve children but she doesn’t care.

Have a great weekend!

 

I gave birth to it; now I have to feed it…

I GAVE BIRTH TO THE THING AND NOW I HAVE TO FEED IT…

…My blog, that is. I put off starting one for more than a year because (a) I’m not that interesting (b) I couldn’t imagine what I’d find to say. Writing fiction is easy; I do it every day. Writing a blog is hard! And some people have a half dozen of them and blog every day. Ack. Well, I’ve “birthed” this sucker, so now I’m going to have to gird my ample loins and plunk them down in a chair a couple of times a week and say something. And then the BIG trick is–how do I get anyone to read it? And, once having read it, how do I get them to be filled with the insatiable desire to buy The Phoenix, which, I presume, is the whole purpose of doing it?

Well, let’s see. Recently I bitched about cell phone users. What else has annoyed me this week? Ah…. how about dance recitals? That’s a subject almost sure to interest somebody and they say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. On the other hand, this was not something I want to be flip about because it really and sincerely troubled me.

Let’s establish right off that I’m not a prude. I enjoy dancing as long as I’m not the one attempting it, because I am Queen of the Klutzes. I trip over the pattern in vinyl flooring. However, I love Dancing with the Stars and in my fantasies I’m 45 years younger, a foot taller, 80 pounds lighter, and look amazingly like Edyta Sliwinska only better. No, it’s not skimpy costumes and sexy dances that bother me at all, when the dancers are adults.

It’s skimpy (rather, skimpy-appearing) costumes and sexy dances performed by little girls from age four to pre-teen. I went to the dance recital of a friend’s daughter recently; this little one takes ballet and that was what I expected. I saw the ballet performance, which lasted about three minutes (with odd, un-ballet-like music, but that’s ok), and two other classes about the same length.  There were acrobatic performers as well who were awesome in their grace.

The rest of the endless four hours (and I do not exaggerate) was filled with the aforementioned little girls shimmying like pole dancers and “music”–I suppose it was music, though my ears became so numb it was hard to tell–pounding hip-hop out at decibels that would drown out a jet engine. A word about the costumes–I said “skimpy-appearing” and that’s correct. Seen up close the “exposed” torsos were flesh-colored sections and they wore flesh-colored tights. But the desired effect of sexy outfits was achieved when viewed from the audience. And what got the most screams and wolf whistles of approval from the audience? The little girls who turned their backs to the audience and shimmied their backsides, thrust their pelvises and gyrated like Dancing With the Stars on Latin night, (described by the host as “when the costumes get skimpier and the dances get hotter”.)

I am puzzled as to what artistic merit this has when done by little children. I can see that it’s amazing to have that kind of control over your body especially at a young age. I can appreciate the limberness and poise and rhythm. I just don’t see the point in teaching little girls who are still built like kidney beans to shake their booties like women on top of a bar. It’s not graceful. It’s not lovely. It’s not expressive. Well, it is expressive, but I’m not sure it’s expressing things we really want little girls to express. And they are totally innocent of the effect. All they know is they love the applause and the raucous approval.

Ah, I hear someone saying, “If you didn’t like it why didn’t you leave?” Would that I could have. But the ballet was halfway through the program and then there was a finale that involved all the students. So I was stuck.

The sexualization of children is a serious matter. I thought after the murder of Jon Benet Ramsey and the resultant debates about the sexualization of children that common sense might reappear, but that was a forlorn hope. Maybe I’m overly sensitive to the possibilities because of my own history. As a pre-schooler I was the victim of a pedophile over a three-year period. And as all pedophiles do, he convinced me that I was to blame. I have mercifully blocked out most details, but I remember a word he used many times though I didn’t know for a long time what it meant: “enticed”. I “enticed” him with my little dresses and my ruffled sox. Sick people like that man see “enticement” in ordinary actions and dress. What do you think goes through their minds when they see little girls tarted up and doing suggestive dance moves?

Well, I’m only one person and my opinions doesn’t weigh as much as a straight pin. But if I could give one dance teacher pause, I’d be happy. In the meantime, as long as my friend’s little girl takes dance, I’ll just have to grin and bear it to support her work and effort.

Next time–no grousing!! I’m going to tell about a book I read recently which is absolutely a-maz-ing.

Ruth Sims
www.ruthsims.com

 

author:
Novel: The Phoenix (ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year HM)
video for The Phoenix: http://youtube.com/user/badcock24
now available on Amazon & fine bookstores

 

Short story, TOM: or, An Improbable Tail–in two anthologies: Charmed Lives (Lethe) & Best Gay Romance (Cleis)
and in April issue of Forbidden Fruit e-zine http://www.forbiddenfruitzine.com/ 
Short story, “Mariel” — Blithe House Quarterly http://www.blithe.com/
Short story “Mr. Newby’s Revenge” to be in Fall issue of MystericalE at www.mystericale.com

 

 

A Special Gift & One Man’s Answer To Critics

This is about a special birthday gift I received last week. And it’s also about a book, and a poet, and a humorous reaction to bad criticism.

My son gave me a gift he has been trying to locate for many years. He’d about given up on ever finding one, when he found it online. It was like the commercial–Very old book: $**.**; pleasure given to the recipient: Priceless.

The autographed and inscribed little book, published in Iowa, is:

Echoes From the Woods:
Memories of Early Life in the Backwoods of Ohio
A Poem Memorial
Vol. 1-4
by Albert Clymer
(c)1889

Albert Clymer was my Great-Grandfather. (My grandmother and my mother also liked to write. Is it a genetic affliction?)Aside from a slight yellowing of the pages it’s in almost perfect condition. (Incidentally, my Great-Grandfather was also an inventor and held a patent for a saw-buck.)

Anyway, the critic for the Cedar Rapids Gazette, wrote, “this volume of poems would have been better without its poetry.  The author has mistaken rhyme for poetry…” and went on to quote one stanza, removing three of its seven lines to show how it could be improved.

Now, I would have been ready either to cry, murder the critic, or write a scathing response. My Great-Grandfather was made of better stuff, and he must’ve had a great sense of humor. He responded:

Alas! our critic is so short of breath,
Seven rhyming lines quite worry him to death,
Three verses he lops off we see;
Then gasps, “this stanza is not poetry.”
To write a rhyme was our intent–
The poetry’s an incident.

I resolve that in the future I will keep my Great-Grandfather’s humorous attitude toward critics of my writing. So far I’ve not had many, but that could change any day!

 

Gay Iranian student will not be deported

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/UKMADHI

Some of you have seen my string of posts regarding the young Iranian student who was desperately trying to stay in the UK to avoid deportation to Iran, arrest, and the subsequent execution for being gay. A lot of you signed the petition linked to above.

Here is the update I received today. I just posted it on LiveJournal so if you saw it there, this is just a repeat. A happy, happy repeat. 

 ”Yesterday, The Home Secretary announced a stay on Mahdi’s deportation order and a whole new hearing. This afternoon, the EU Parliament passed a resolution demanding he be given asylum. The resolution was also endorsed by 163 members of the House of Lords and, so far, 40 British delegates to the EU.  as of yesterday we had about 3,500 signatures pn the petition. Now there are over 5,000 and growing while you look at it – from ALL kinds of people, all over the world. And all the thousands of heartfelt comments attached!!!”

This is a wonderful example of what can happen when the power of the people is harnessed for good.

Cell Phone Users From Hell

Well, as long as no one’s reading my blog anyway I’m going to rant. If anyone read it they’d be sure to get offended.

I find it fascinating and repelling that more and more Americans (and, for all I know, Brits and Aussies, Germans and Russians are the same) are so important to the continued turning of the earth that they can’t do anything without a cell phone glued to their faces or being plugged into one of those ear thingies that make them look like Uhura on the original Star Trek. They can’t walk down the street, in the mall, sit through a movie or a school program, drive a car, eat, or anything else without the ubiquitous things. I wonder how many have sex and talk on the cell phone at the same time.

Good grief. Is there honestly anything that important, except maybe giving instructions to a hysterical husband who’s stuck in traffic and has to perform a Cesarean delivery on his wife, using only a plastic McDonald’s knife? OK, I grant you there are real emergencies and for these cell phones are a blessing and a life saver. But come on–! How often is that actually the case?

During WWII, my mother told me, they had a slogan “Is this trip necessary?” because of gas rationing. I wish people would think, “Is this call necessary?” when they’re driving (ESPECIALLY when they’re driving). A cell-phone-using driver forced me out of my lane of traffic today, sent me fishtailing into the turning lane to avoid hitting her. For a split second I lost control and narrowly missed hitting an oncoming car head-on. I wonder how important her call really was.

Last week a woman seated in a restaurant about two feet from me felt compelled to call someone and relate every detail of the bloody diarrhea she’d had that morning. Now, I’m not heartless. I’m sorry she had been sick. Truly. But I was sick too by the time her conversation was over. Of course when she finally hung up my appetite was gone but she tucked into a perfectly enormous lunch of what looked like barbecued ribs.

What is this overwhelming need to carry on loud “private” conversations–or what should be private conversations—in public?

American society is getting crasser and more vulgar by the day, and my personal opinion is that a large part of the reason is that there are no standards of privacy or “suitability” anymore. It’s an old saying, but still a good one: there’s a time and a place for everything. I don’t want to know about your bloody diarrhea when I’m eating and I don’t want to hear you cuss at someone over the phone (or in person, for that matter) when I’m shopping for vegetables. I don’t want to be privy to your telephone fights with your significant other because, like Rhett Butler, frankly my dear I don’t give a damn. Let’s bring back some class. Let’s lower the voices. Let’s bring back the notion of keeping private stuff private.

I apologize to anyone who really is so important to the functioning of the world that he or she can’t unplug themselves in public. No offense intended. As for everybody else–get a life!

Now, with my luck, people will actually read my blog and get annoyed. On the other hand, if they’re reading it, maybe they’re not talking on their cells phones.

Bliggoty, bloggety

Bliggoty, bloggety, bloggery, whee

I have a blog now. Look at me.

Ok, that’s silly. I’ve put off starting a blog because I knew I couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say. I was right! It’s like losing your virginity: it will seem better in retrospect.

I’m a historical novelist with one presently published book (THE PHOENIX), three past published books (back in the ’90’s), one short story (TOM: or, An Improbable Tail) that’s in two anthologies and a current e-zine, and two FREE short stories.

My second new historical novel, COUNTERPOINT, is (very tentatively) set for publication in 2009.

Information on aquiring the published ones follows this entry.

Since THE PHOENIX was published I’ve been lucky enough to make friends with many readers (write to me!! I’ll answer!) and other writers–Alex Beecroft, Erastes, Lori Lake, Victor Banis, Rick Reed, Dorien Grey, Ron Donaghe, and William Maltese to name only a few. (My abject apologies to those not named.) Enough name-dropping for one day.

I’ll close my virgin blog with information:

THE PHOENIX can be bought on Amazon.com and Amazon.com.UK, independent brick & mortar stores, and autographed copies from me. Very soon it will be available for the Amazon Kindle. My website is www.ruthsims.com

I hope soon to find out how the hell to update my website myself instead of having to rely on someone else. But being a techo-idiot that may or may not be possible.

The story TOM: or, An Improbable Tail–a story I considered just a fun bit of fluff, has taken on a life of its own and is in two anthologies: Best Gay Romance from Cleis Press, Charmed Lives from Lethe Press (both available on Amazon) and will soon appear in Forbidden Fruit e-zine at http://www.forbiddenfruitzine.com/ 
My FREE Short stories can be found as follows:

“Mariel” — Blithe House Quarterly http://www.blithe.com/
“The Curse” http://www.lulu.com/content/448400