The Handmaid&#8217;s Tale

March 12th, 2013

annoying people, AUTHORS, Book Reviews, BOOKS, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, critics, EMOTIONS, ENTERTAINMENT, Fiction, novelist, novellas, novels, PSYCHOLOGY, reading, RESOURCE & REFERENCE, responsibility, sensitivity, Social anxiety, Social Psychology, society, SOCIOLOGY, spoilers, VOCATIONS, writer, WRITING, WRITING CRAFT, WRITING LIFE, Writing tips

12 Comments »

Giving it Away: Spoilers as Both Noun & Accusation

Directly out of the chute, let me say this is coming from myself as both a writer and a reader. One compelling reason (among others) that I became an author, was due to my disappointment in the offerings of a certain genre. I wanted to write books *I* would want to read. I launched myself into this vocation with little knowledge of what that decision would bring. I had no way of knowing the degree of vulnerability that publishing my writing would entail.

Publishing a book is very much like being naked in public. So it’s difficult not to take it personally, when someone makes a comment on it. I try to take my own advice; I’ve said,

“It’s not so much that you need a thick skin, it’s that you have to realize it’s NOT your skin.”

One of those things easier said than done.

One thing that makes that challenge more formidable is the free-for-all that is the book review. It’s unfortunate that so many book reviewers don’t seem to understand what a review’s purpose is. In simplistic terms, a book review is meant to inform a potential reader of the merits (and sometimes, demerits) of a book, so that they can make an informed decision about whether or not to read it. A review is NOT a soapbox, a torture-chamber, nor an opportunity to elevate yourself above someone who does something you have never done yourself. Also, if you are not reading in a genre you like to begin with, you have no business doing a review.

In an odd offshoot of this, I once had a reviewer who bashed one of my books because she bought the WRONG BOOK in a genre she did not like, and proceeded to list everything she hated about it. That’s neither fair to the writer, nor fair to the potential reader. The book was clearly described on the information page, the title was similar to the book the reviewer sought, yet NOT THE SAME TITLE, which was intentional, yet it was obvious the genre to which it belonged was ignored, and the blurb wasn’t read at all before the purchase.

I notice when I’m doing any marketing for my books, that there are excerpts I want to share because I feel they are particularly interesting, even out of context, or are examples of the tone of the book, or create tension in the reader, making them want more, or it reveals a character that might be engaging. The problem is, the scenes that I feel are best at any of those things, usually involve a spoiler. I can’t share them, because it would give away some twist that I worked so hard to develop in the process of composing the book.

Readers who do book reviews, are charged with the same sensibility. Would you go up to someone and say, “Let me tell you this hysterical punch-line..and then, I’m sure you will want to hear the whole joke.” Or would you say, “I just saw this wonderful movie where the bad guy dies by being impaled with a swordfish, and the main character is really Sally, the other character, but she has two personalities, and her mother really isn’t her mother, but her sister, and this is how she finds out such-and-such….”

I hope you would answer NO. I would not do that. If you didn’t give that answer, then please, I beg of you, don’t review my books. I spend a good deal of time on the plot, and the twists in that plot, and I always try to do something with it that is unexpected and clever. When you blab all that to other readers, then why would they want to read the book, when they already know all the surprises? Some writers are trying to make a living with their work, just like you are. How would you like it if someone came to your job and told everyone something that kept you from getting paid?

There are plenty of bad writers out there, that much is true. But if you can’t find something nice to say, don’t do a review. As the saying goes, everyone’s a critic. I have always admired this quote, for those reasons.

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.”

~Theodore Roosevelt, “Citizenship in a Republic,” Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

A conscientious writer’s face is always marred by sweat and dirt and blood, but it’s because they are actually DOING SOMETHING. It’s really easy to slam a book, but then, you have made it about YOU and not the book, and that’s not what reviews are for. The bad writers don’t develop much of a following except among readers who are easily pleased, or uneducated enough to require very little in their entertainment; good writers tend to get more reviews, and reviews, in turn, sell books. Whether fair or not, there’s either a readership for a certain book, or there is not, regardless of the intellect of those readers. So bashing an author or a book serves no purpose other than to make the reviewer feel better. If you didn’t like a book, just stop buying that author’s work. Simple as that. No need to inflict injury.

Don’t attack the author. You don’t know the author, and whether or not she was trying to illustrate a deeper point; and unless you are highly educated and shrewd, that point may have been lost on you, or you might have missed important details that are indeed handled well, but simply overlooked by you. (For more in this area, see Stranger Fiction, Reviews & Truthiness. )

As I mentioned above, Don’t be a spoiler. Good authors spend a lot of energy and time on constructing a plot and providing surprises to keep the reader engaged and entertained– when you come along and tell those twists and turns and outcomes, you have just spoiled it for anyone else–which is why it’s called a SPOILER. This is one time when you should be vague.

Thus, when you are writing a review, dear reader, don’t give away plot twists, surprises, nor the ending of a book. Have you ever seen a movie trailer or the blurb on the back of the DVD for a movie? Did you notice that they entice you, but don’t tell you what happens? Think of it like that. It’s a teaser, not an unveiling.

Accordingly, don’t simply give a summary of the events in a book. You’re not in Junior High School doing a report. You are sharing what you liked about the book, not just paraphrasing the story the author tells. Telling the story is the author’s job; yours, as a reviewer, is to tell how you felt about that story, not to give an alternate or paraphrased synopsis of the plot.

Pretend you are telling a friend about the book, with the objective of enticing them to read it. You wouldn’t want to give anything away, but you want to convince them it’s worth reading.

You can do this in your reviews by providing such things as:

Your opinion on the characters. Are the characters interesting? Do you care about them? Are they authentic? Do they remind you of anyone you know, or other characters from other books?

How does this book compare to others that you’ve read in this genre? Is something done differently or particularly well?

What other authors does this author remind you of?

What was the narrative voice like in the book? First person? Third person omniscient, third person limited, or a combination of any of them? Did this point of view work well for the story?

What was the writer’s style? Dry? Witty? Colorful? Picturesque?

Who was your favorite character and why?

Were there unexpected twists and turns, if so, mention them, but do not give details. For instance, instead of saying “The story is about a professor who drugs and rapes his students” say, “The main character has a dark secret, and he intends to keep it that way.”

Did the story engage your senses? Were you immersed in the story, and did it make you want to keep reading?

Was the book realistic? Did the author demonstrate a command of the subject-matter, or did it seem contrived, implausible, trite, and one-dimensional?

What was the pacing like? Did it read fast or slow? Did it keep you turning the page?

What was the author good at? Dialogue? Description? Characterization? Plotting? Inciting emotion in you?

What emotions did you feel while reading the book? Excitement? Dread? Happiness? Suspense? Nostalgia? Fear & Loathing? (whether in Las Vegas or not.)

What were some quotes or excerpts from the book you enjoyed most? Quote them in your review.

Did the ending satisfy you? Why? (again, don’t give anything away, just comment in general terms, ala, The ending made perfect sense, but was totally unexpected. I closed the book feeling very satisfied.)

It’s perfectly fine to also mention what didn’t work for you in the book, and why, but not merely as an excuse to bash the author. If the book was too violent for your taste, you may say so, either directly, or with a warning to readers (Warning: this book does include some disturbing scenes of violence or Caution: This book has sexual content, though tastefully done). If the book you are reviewing deals with a difficult subject you don’t enjoy or tolerate,, say that too (without spoilers).

But remember that we writers can’t please everyone, we can only write the stories we feel compelled to write, and hope there are those who are interested in reading them. And more importantly, writing well is hard work; we pour ourselves into the job, and we have feelings, just like you do.

10 people like this post.

March 4th, 2013

alcohol, blended families, CHALLENGES & MISHAPS, change, domestic partnership, Domestic Trivia, Driving, family, HUMOR, lesbians, life, New Zealand, Relocation, SEXUALITY, Social Psychology

3 Comments »

Adventures in the Land of New Zeal

Some thoughts on being an expatriate (expat)…An American in New Zealand….

FADE IN:

We’re somewhere between Tapanui and Gore, New Zealand…

I grabbed two bananas on the way out. The perfect portable snack. I give my Significant Other one, and she peels the skin off it completely, and eats it naked. Well she’s not naked. The banana is, I mean.

Though there was this one time–

never mind.

She also takes the wrapper off her baby McDonald’s cheeseburger completely and eats that naked, too. The hamburger. Not her.

Maybe this has nothing to do with her nationality as a Kiwi. Maybe it’s just quirky. But I’m quirky too, so it all works out.

We’re in the car, and I’m riding on the wrong side, since there should be a steering wheel over here. And I notice she’s also driving on the wrong side of the road, but it seems to be working out, because everyone else is also driving on the wrong side. I still getting a little fright when I see the speed limit sign on corners that say 100.

I’m trying to recall place names. All the street signs might as well be in Navaho, because I can never read them. We’re almost to the town of Pomeranian…No, pomegranate… No Pukaurau. Yeah.

But she’s still the most familiar thing to me, here. I’ve concluded that she is, indeed, human, and I do, indeed, like her very much. (Aside from the fact that I also LOVE HER MADLY AND WITH AN IRRATIONAL INTENSITY). Even if she does refuse to get under the covers when she’s freezing, because it’s just wrong to do that unless you’re actually going to sleep. She will instead cover up with a robe or blanket. Go figure.

But I’m well cared-for. She waits on me hand and foot, and I feel like I’m some kind of royalty. She cooks every night (I guess that’s normal when you’re a mom, but for me, it’s odd). But she brings me my dinner each night; She goes out to buy things I’m out of; she refills my distilled water jug to make my coffee and brings it up to me; brings me my frozen bottle of water (because I like it cold); brings me bagels with cream cheese, sandwiches, homemade cookies and cupcakes, and other snacks, while I’m tippy tap typing away here at my desk. She pretty much does everything but bathe me and change my nappy.

Although, there was this one time…

Never mind.

She does all these things, plus takes care of the kids and writes her own books, too. Amazing, really. I don’t know how she does it. I often feel I don’t do enough, but I’m also not used to being in a family unit, and I have read materials on blended families, and apparently it takes 2 years to adjust. I hope not. But I’m certainly finding it a challenge…maybe because it’s a new blended family, and one of us moved from another country. And just who I am, individually. Who knows. Haven’t seen any self help books called, Blended Lesbian Families With One Expat HSP Introvert.

I’m lucky, though, to have a partner who is so understanding and thoughtful, and who will also hold my hand and kiss me in public, and I don’t have to worry about what part of town we’re in, anticipating a hate crime. In fact gay-marriage is legal here, and that’s one thing I wish America would implement, nationwide. Still, there are times when we get looks. We were once sitting on a bench by the street, holding hands, and a car passed by and the driver nearly went off the road looking at us. Like we were a novelty. Like we were two giraffes sitting on a bench. But nothing scary. In fact, most people we pass smile at us, like they are enjoying the show, or like we are this brand new species they’d heard about but never seen in person.

I also noticed that when you’re walking on the sidewalk or anywhere around other people, here, they walk on the wrong side of the footpath, as well; and pass each other on the left, too, just like they drive. That’s something I would have never even thought about. So I always end up bumping into people, and excusing myself for being on the wrong side. I half expect doors to open like drawbridges, or something. It seems that everywhere I look, I see something unfamiliar. Even sounds…you just don’t think about things like that, but a different environment also has different sounds.

New Zealand could be called BirdLand. Birds are only outnumbered by lizards. In the A-frame house we moved from, our bedroom was upstairs within the apex of the structure. Each spring, birds get inside those walls and build nests, and I could hear them skittering about – it was a sound that seemed to belong in a Stephen King novel. A little creepy. At best, they sounded like mice.

I was taking a break from my writing one day and still had my computer glasses on. So I wasn’t able to see clearly farther than 10 feet. In the garden I thought I saw a mouse. Then I realized it was not a mouse, but a bird skittering along. I surmised this only because the mouse flew away. I’ve noticed that birds in New Zealand like to walk around a lot. It’s as if they don’t know they can fly. Hopping, sprinting, or strolling. Likely it’s some inherent evolutionary trait since the birds have no natural predators. The few predators that do exist were accidentally introduced, so the birds seem to only remember their wings if they need to get to a tree limb somewhere. And while Kate watches the birds, she says things like, “It must be so weird not to have arms.”

In fact there are no natural predators here at all. No bears, no wolves, no large cats…(Even though the indigenous possums make sounds at night that will curl your toes, and sound like…well like American possums LOOK. Scary. New Zealand possums look all cuddly like koala bears, but everyone here hates them, as they’ve become quite the pest).

People here think nothing of walking around barefoot. Even in Winter. Perhaps this bothers me because I have this aversion to letting my feet touch anything that isn’t clean and soft. Like socks. Or velour. Or kittens. One would think I regularly ate dinner with my feet, the way I always have to protect them and keep them clean. So when one of the kids walks through the house onto the wood or stone floor and out to the patio, I cringe. Shoes. Where are your shoes, child?

Things are a tad more “normal” in Dunedin, than they were in Tapanui, since it’s a larger city. In Tapanui, I had sheep for neighbors. Their birthing sounds during lambing season woke me up at night. I never thought I’d be awakened by sheep-noise.

Then again, if you had told me a few years ago I would drop everything and fly (ME< THE ONE WHO’S TERRIFIED OF FLYING) to another country (ME< WHO’S TERRIFIED TO GO TO ANOTHER COUNTRY) and merge my life with a woman who has kids (ME< WHO NEVER WANTED KIDS AND NEVER HAD THEM)…well, I would have laughed you out of the room. What an absurd idea. I mean really. But here I am. Never say never, I guess is the caveat emptor, there.

Although the language here is English, it often sounds like gibberish. What with the accent that is slightly British and slightly Australian, and something else, maybe some native Maori, I am still training my ear to understand everyone. And the words for things are different, too…

To wit:

For cars, a trunk is a boot,

and a hood is a bonnet,

a windshield is a windscreen,

a fender is a wing,

a freeway is a motorway.

A wrench is a spanner.

Stealing is pinching.

A counter is a bench, except when it’s actually a bench.

An elevator is a lift.

A garbage dump is a tip.

A sweet potato is a kumara.

Cornstarch is corn flour.

Fries are chips and chips are crisps.

Hamburger/ground beef is mince.

Lobster is crayfish.

A cookie is a biscuit.

Cotton candy is candy floss.

A corn dog is a hot dog, but a hot dog doesn’t really exist. When I longed for my dill and sweet relish on my hot dog bun, which was not a bun but a roll, everyone looked at me funny.

Oatmeal is porridge.

Jelly is jam.

Green onions are spring onions

Cantaloupes are rock melons

Bell and sweet peppers are capsicum.

A rutabaga is a swede. (Imagine my dismay when I saw a sign on the road for Swedes, 3$, and I thought they were into human trafficking)

To broil is to gill, and to grill is to barbeque

Ketchup is tomato sauce (and it’s not the same).

Carryout is takeaways.

A pharmacy is a chemist.

A trash can is a rubbish bin.

An ice chest is a chilly bin.

Gas is petrol.

A diaper is a nappy.

Sheet rock is gib board.

A carpenter is a chippie.

A farmer is a cockie.

A street musician is a busker.

A ladybug is a ladybird.

When you’re pissed here, you’re drunk, not angry.

An apartment is a flat.

To phone somebody is to ring somebody.

A paper cutter is a guillotine (Kate said one day she needed a guillotine, and I remarked “Was it something I said?”)

An eraser is a rubber (I thought she was REALLY confused when she asked if I had a rubber)

Hiking is tramping (when she said “let’s go tramping” I was not enthusiastic)

Galoshes are gumboots

Bathing suit is a tog

A store is a shop – one of those things that actually makes sense to me, considering we call it “going shopping” not “going storing.”

And one that continues to come up–pudding, for Kiwis, is any dessert. So when they ask you if you want pudding, best to ask which kind. The first time this happened, Kate said we were having pudding, and there was this meringue-ey type thing called pavlova in my bowl.

“I thought we were having pudding?” I said.

“That is pudding,” she said.

Frowning, I said, “This is not pudding. Pudding is one specific thing. How do you people understand each other?”

For instance, once she said, “Let’s have a squizz, shall we?”

I thought she said Squids, at first. I’m not even going to tell you what I use the word Squids for.

“No, squizz,” she said.

I wasn’t sure if she was inviting me to have a specialized coffee drink made from some native plant, or what. But she explained that squizz means LOOK.

See why I’m always frowning and saying “What?”

Confused communications can sometimes cause discomfort. Like when she said, “It’s 21 degrees” and I get my coat and then I’m hot and realize she meant Celsius.

New Zealand is the land of few words. They believe in economy, I suppose. No need to use all those variations, just pick something, and call it that.

There are also many uses for the same word– like, turn signal is an indicator. Even though that word doesn’t specify what it indicates. At least turn signal makes clear you’re signaling a turn. After tossing that debate around a while we decided to agree on BLINKER.

I was surprised to learn that the things I had become accustomed to having at my fingertips, are not available here, which served to make me more thankful for the abundance I enjoyed in America–it really is the land of plenty.

New Zealand has a population of about four and a half million. About a million less than Colorado, where I’m from. Queen Elizabeth II is the head of state, and New Zealand is therefore a constitutional monarchy. Executive political power is exercised by the Cabinet, led by a Prime Minister. Maori is a native tribe and one of the official languages here; the Maori name for New Zealand is Aotearoa, which translates as “land of the long white cloud.” Experts believe New Zealand was first settled by Polynesians between 1250 and 1300 CE. King Edward VII proclaimed New Zealand a dominion of the British Empire in 1907.

This is a young country, as the age of countries go. I have to remember that things are a little more primitive here, because New Zealand is an island country, and most goods are shipped in at great expense. I mean, 80 million years of geographic isolation has consequences. Those costs are reflected in what we pay at the register. So prices here are three or four times higher. And the products tend to be of poor quality. So when I pay four times more for something, and then it doesn’t work right, or it breaks, I have a little American fit.

That being the case, and even though there are some of the most beautiful sights in the world, here, there are all kinds of things about this Land of New Zeal that I found foreign.

Houses have no central heat and air, (and no window air units either), and no screens on the windows. And American TV is not available. You have to buy DVD’s or rent them from an online service, and they usually only have old things. We use a VPN service to hide our IP and fool the Cyberspace Powers into thinking we live in California, so we can get programs online sometimes and use the laptop to stream it to the TV. No premium cable with Showtime, or HBO. And I miss my DVR. Although I have discovered an affection for Dr. Who.

Most everyone here uses a plunger contraption, or a “jug” that heats water that you pour over instant coffee. Drip coffeemakers– They’re a little hard to find.

And they use milk for cream. No flavored creamers. No more Belgian Chocolate Toffee and White Chocolate Macadamia Nut. Even plain Coffee-Mate creamer is rarely available, and when it is, it comes in a tiny jar that costs about 6 bucks. But fortunately, I have discovered some Nescafe instant coffees that are really good, and I drink them everyday. Cappuccino, Mocha, Hazelnut and Vanilla latte. Yum.

Some things that I have always taken for granted as a staple in the U.S. isn’t even here. Like rubbing alcohol and peroxide are specialized items, and when you find them, they’re in tiny bottles and are expensive, as if they were made of gold bouillon shavings. I was spoiled by the huge bottles in the U.S. available for 69 cents (not huge bottles of bouillon shavings, but of peroxide and alcohol).

Speaking of alcohol…The wine and beer I so enjoyed is either not here at all, or hard to find and crazy expensive. I have found that I like Speight’s cider and a thing with Ginger and Lime…sort of tastes like wine; and this German cooler thing with berry flavors called something that looks like RECORDING. I’d have to look at the bottle to tell you. But it’s really good.

If you smoke, it’ll cost you $20 to $30 per pack, depending on if you buy 25′s or 30′s. Most people, therefore, roll their own, and that’s still expensive. And forget about finding many American brands. If you try to ship American cigarettes over, it will cost you about $200 per carton in customs fees.

That fat bottle of Reunite Lambrusco I used to buy for $6, is something like $20, here, when you can find it. If you want an ice chest (I mean, a chilly bin) it will cost you $100 or more.

Other things I miss—my Teeter Table, which is really great for my back issues. My Cherryot (AKA Chevy Blazer) with heat and air. Finally got a vehicle I loved, got it paid off and then realized it wouldn’t fit in a suitcase to take with me. And my cats, Monkey and Biscuit, whom I couldn’t bring, so had to re-home. Perhaps I miss the Cherryot and the cats more than anything else. Strange, the things you discover about yourself in circumstances like this.

But I also miss vanilla wafers, fried okra, bacon (they have bacon here, but it’s not crispy, and it tastes different).

I have been ordering some things, when I can afford the forwarding shipping services, like my Arm & Hammer toothpaste. But I miss my Krispy Kreme donuts, Fritos corn chips (for Frito-chili pie), 8 O’clock Hazelnut coffee, pistachio pudding (not Kiwi pudding which can be anything, but American-pudding-pudding), dill pickles, Miracle Whip, and crab legs. It’s impossible to get an all-you-can-eat buffet of crab legs here, like you can in America. No Red Lobster or Joe’s Crab Shack either. Which I find odd, since New Zealand is, after all, an island in the middle of the ocean.

And there’s no–horror of horrors–Walmart. I know, because once I asked someone where Walmart was, and they directed me to the place in the picture—>>>>

But I do have the love of my life, so all that is secondary. How often does a person find their perfect partner? No one ever said she wouldn’t be in ANOTHER COUNTRY. It is what it is…

So…back to these expat differences….If you order electronics, or as I did, have your computer shipped over, that will be another $300. And you won’t be able to use it because the plugs are different. I had to buy an expensive converter just to charge my Sonicare toothbrush and Nook Color. The outlets here have three holes, and they’re canted in such a way that I have to use a flashlight and keep turning it this way and that, to figure out how to get something plugged in. And most houses only have one electrical outlet per room. Amazing how many things we Americans are used to plugging in.

There seem to be primarily houses with only one bathroom, too. Even 5 bedroom houses usually only have one. We were lucky enough to find a house in Dunedin that was large enough for all of us, and had a sort of master bedroom upstairs with a bathroom and walk-in closet combination. Like a master suite. But it’s rare to find that. In fact, it was the only house listed that had two bathrooms.

Speaking of bathrooms….let me just tell you my first vivid experience in that regard.

When we still lived in Tapanui, we had to go to Dunedin to shop a few times…that was, at the time, two hours away. After walking around forever, I had to use the facilities. Kate led me to an outdoor public toilet. It was like a large booth. It had an electric sliding door (which reminded me of the aforementioned Dr. Who police booth). I thought that was weirdly cool. When I got inside, and did my business, I noticed that the toilet paper dispenser wasn’t manual. It was also electric. And it decided how much you needed. You hit the button and got brrrrrrr…. two sheets. I kept hitting the button. Brrrrr...two more sheets….brrrrrr, two more.

That’s when I discovered my Aunt Flo was in town. (Hopefully you’ll all know what I mean).

Dammit. And me, with no feminine hygiene products.

The toilet paper dispenser was certainly not helpful. It took a while to create a temporary solution while we walked back into the mall area where there was a Countdown supermarket, where I purchased my supplies, along with ibuprofen because of that, and because we were both getting sore from walking.

Then we had to find an indoor toilet, because I was in no mood to deal with brrrrrrrrr-–two sheets, again. As aggravatingly comical as that was. It’s amazing how everything is different in another country.

So I’m in the stall, trying to get the pads open because I need those first so I don’t have an accident (all you female species out there know exactly what I mean). I’m pulling on the package trying to get it open and I flip the whole package into the air and naturally, it rolls under the door out into the main part of the bathroom.

I know other women are standing out there and I am horrified. So I just get it over with quickly, opening the door and saying “that was fun…” grab the package and dash back into the stall.

So I put the 2×4 on, and start on the plugs. But these are tampons from another country. Foreign plugs. The plunger was recessed, and like an idiot I tried to use it without pulling it out first (so to speak) but of course it wasn’t working, so I’d wasted one and had to throw it away. But again, bathroom trash receptacles are also different in NZ. There was a slot in the bin attached to the wall, and I thought that was where I was supposed to put it, but discovered that wasn’t the slot at all…the tampon fell down and into the stall beside me where I hoped there was no one else who heard it hit the floor and looked down to see way too much of my personal business.

Freshly horrified, I pulled out a second tampon and pulled the plunger out ’til it rested behind the cotton wadding, (like it was SUPPOSED TO–see, I went to college) and then I get that where it was supposed to go.

Now, I didn’t want to leave the stall, because I’m afraid the ones who’d seen the pads roll out, and more horribly, the person in the stall who’d seen the discarded tampon, might still be there, and I simply didn’t want to face them.

I turned to flush, but then couldn’t find the flushing mechanism..these toilets were also of a foreign nature…there was a panel on the wall behind the toilet, and I tried to figure out why, hoping to find the button to push..finally realized the whole panel was a button, and pressed it to flush. I’m used to a handle on the side of the tank, and to find myself standing in front of a toilet, trying to figure out how to flush it was sobering and a bit humiliating and also a little funny.

By now, I’m laughing, (maybe because the screaming meemies were building) because I felt like not just a Stranger in a Strange Land but the grandest idiot in the village. It was like being in a coma and then waking and forgetting how everything worked…having to relearn everything.

So I waited for what I thought was an appropriate amount of time and came out to wash my hands and make faces at Kate…laughing, and unable to tell her all that had just befallen her beloved.

I’ll stop there, because this has gotten way more lengthy than I intended. And now that I have shared the Aunt Flo Fiasco, I can’t take any more, nor, probably, can YOU.

3 people like this post.

February 14th, 2013

civil union, domestic partnership, Facebook, happiness, hope, HUMOR, lesbians, RELATIONSHIPS, SEXUALITY, Valentine's Day

Belated & Premature Well-Wishing

The Kissy-Monster at rest.

This morning, I woke–still groggy from my trip to Ellaville–and had to fend off a Kissy-Monster. It was terrible. I can’t really talk about it.

But my beloved had put a card and a little velvet pouch on the pillow next to me. A little gold bracelet and a sweet card. Valentine’s day is not a big deal here…yet, she had not ignored it…she is sneaky that way. I had decided to ignore the event, so it wouldn’t make her feel guilty for not acknowledging it. Now I’m the one who feels guilty that I didn’t go ahead and do it anyway.

Then I made my coffee and sat down at my desk, and on Facebook, I noticed that I had all these congratulations messages…I’m thinking…Now, how did they know that my Kiwi partner remembered Valentine’s Day? Then I realized they were congratulating me on my relationship status change. Which I did yesterday.

Amusingly enough, though, the engagement happened July 5th of 2012–I just now got around to changing it, because I saw somewhere that Facebook now had Civil Union and Domestic Partnership as choices–we haven’t yet had one of those official ceremonies (and will, soon–gay marriage is legal here. And we will in Colorado, too, when we move back there in 5 years–yay! They did it finally!) ….anyway, I had to see for myself, if Facebook offered those selections, as I had never seen them. When I looked, they weren’t there, and I thought, wow, I’m not just ‘in a relationship,’ I’m engaged. why didn’t I pick that one last time? We exchanged rings the day I got off the plane on 5July….so I changed my status to ENGAGED. Kate says, “Everyone is congratulating me…imagine how surprised I was when our relationship status changed, and I didn’t know….”

Anyway, I said all that to say this: It was so sweet and heartening to see how many people noticed and sent well-wishes. Thanks to all of you! (and to the one guy who wished me a happy Birthday, even though it’s not my birthday either… LOL)

Rich Carter Happy for you!
1 · about an hour ago

J.r. Stocesposted toKelli Jae Baeli
5 hours ago
Congratulations Kelli!

Scott Long likes this.

Suresh Sarangiposted toKelli Jae Baeli
6 hours ago
Wishing you a happy & peaceful life.

Terry Bakerposted toKelli Jae Baeli
7 hours ago
Congratulations to you both.

Tom Tallmadgeposted toKelli Jae Baeli
7 hours ago
Congrats!

Abubakar Bulloposted toKelli Jae Baeli
9 hours ago
Happy New Enslavement, Kelli !

Stephanie Octave Stewartposted toKelli Jae Baeli
10 hours ago
congratulations:-)

Laurie Salzlerposted toKelli Jae Baeli
11 hours ago
Congrats!

Robert Ferentzposted toKelli Jae Baeli
13 hours ago
Congratulations!

Deniz Seviposted toKelli Jae Baeli
14 hours ago

Emanuele Trescaposted toKelli Jae Baeli
14 hours ago
Congratulations.

Little Tedposted toKelli Jae Baeli
14 hours ago
Congrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrratulations!
Like ·

Melissa Melroseposted toKelli Jae Baeli
16 hours ago
Gratz!

Vicky Greenplate DeStephanoposted toKelli Jae Baeli
17 hours ago
Congratulations!

L.a. Wolzposted toKelli Jae Baeli
17 hours ago near Duluth, MN via mobile
WoW!

Rob Mooreposted toKelli Jae Baeli
18 hours ago
Congrats.

Krishan Yadavposted toKelli Jae Baeli
18 hours ago
Happy Birthday Kelli

Kelli Jae Baeli thanks but it’s not my birthday. (?)
Like · Reply · 17 hours ago
Krishan Yadav oops….where did I go wrong
Like · Reply · 16 hours ago

Dana Logsdonposted toKelli Jae Baeli
18 hours ago
CONGRATS

Gayla Nelsonposted toKelli Jae Baeli
19 hours ago
Congratulations!!!!

JJ Burkhartposted toKelli Jae Baeli
19 hours ago
Congratulations

Jeanne Barrett Magillposted toKelli Jae Baeli
19 hours ago
congratulations!

Carla Hendersonposted toKelli Jae Baeli
19 hours ago
Congratulations!

Brian Cunninghamposted toKelli Jae Baeli
19 hours ago
Congratulations to you and Kate!!~

Kelli Cookeposted toKelli Jae Baeli
19 hours ago
CONGRATULATIONS!

Alexei Coganposted toKelli Jae Baeli
19 hours ago
Congrats!!!

Sophia Chokhmahposted toKelli Jae Baeli
20 hours ago
Oooo, I wonder what Kate will say? Just kidding, pleased for you both

Larry Busbyposted toKelli Jae Baeli
20 hours ago
Congratulations !!

Chuck Krausposted toKelli Jae Baeli
20 hours ago
Best wishes…

Larry Williamsposted toKelli Jae Baeli
20 hours ago
Congrats

Shalimar Eatonposted toKelli Jae Baeli
20 hours ago
Congratulations! ? :*

Helene Wexlerposted toKelli Jae Baeli
21 hours ago
Congratulations on your engagement!

Sheila Stanselposted toKelli Jae Baeli
21 hours ago
OMG…I am soooo happy for you sweetie!!

Be the first to like.

January 23rd, 2013

adventure genre, AKA Investigations series, Also Known As Rising & Falling, Book Excerpt, BOOKS, Fiction, GENRES, Kelli Jae Baeli, Lesbian fiction genre, lesbians, lesfic genre, SEXUALITY, women, WRITING

AKA # 4: Also Known as Rising & Falling -Now Available!

Now available on Smashwords: Book 4 in the Aka Investigations Series,

Also Known as Rising & Falling.

(Book 3 was just made available a few days ago–read that one first! And if you haven’t read #1 and #2, read them all in order, okay? Okay)

Here’s an excerpt….(Jobeth is recovering from a fall down the stairs, caused by the slippers she was wearing)

~15~

Cranky-Pants & Furbabies

Consciousness crept in again on drug-addled feet, and Jobeth immediately saw the close-up view of slippers on her chest. The ones that caused her fall down the stairs. She looked over at a smiling Izzy standing next to the bed. “Cute. When I am able to get out of this bed, I’m going to beat you with them.”

Izzy dismissed the empty threat. “Are you awake enough to talk?”

“Until the drugs kick in again.” Jobeth reached for the prescription bottle with her left hand. “The laptop keeps waking me up. I keep putting it on sleep mode and it keeps waking up.”

“Maybe it’s not tired,” Izzy suggested, sitting down on the bed. “Do you need me to fluff your pillow?”

“It’s memory foam. It fluffs itself.”

Izzy nodded, smiling. “Okay then. Listen, I think we have a new case.”

Digging out the Darvocet with a finger, Jobeth popped it in her mouth and washed it down with the water on the nightstand. “Who?”

“Ponzi Bonnet.”

“Who?”

“That friend of Phoebe’s. She thinks her husband might be thinking about killing her. Or maybe just having an affair. Or maybe wanting to kill her because he’s having an affair…”

“I thought it was the pain meds. Her name is really Ponzi Bonnet?”

“Yep. And she’s just as weird as her name is.”

“How’s that?”

Izzy pulled a half-eaten rice cracker off the comforter and held it up. Jobeth snatched it with her left hand and popped it in her mouth, chewing. “Do go on.”

“Well, according to Ponzi herself, she’s got some issues…kind of reclusive, has a sleep disorder, and no telling what else.”

“And you don’t think that has something to do with why she thinks her husband is trying to kill her?”

“I have a sleep disorder.”

“See?”

Izzy gave her a raspberry sound. “Maybe. But I have to say, there are suspicious things happening…” Izzy went through the incidents that sent Ponzi to her conclusions. “And Phoebe says Ponzi is so worried about it, that she thought it might be better safe than sorry. She thinks I ought to tail him for a while and see what he’s up to.”

“Well, as long as we’re getting paid, I don’t care.”

“Here’s the interesting part. Ponzi is stinking rich, and her husband is a psychiatrist, and he’s the one who said she needed some help with these issues.”

Jobeth reached for the water bottle again, and washed down the cracker. The meds were giving her an awful case of cotton-mouth. “That’s a little convenient, if he really is going to kill her.”

“That’s what I thought,” Izzy said. “He could fling her off a building and then say she did it to herself, thinking she could fly.”

“Right. Actually, that would be the best way to get away with it…” She looked around for more crackers. “Maybe he’s planning the perfect crime.”

“Not perfect if we catch him at it.”

“Well, keep an eye on him for a few days and see if anything seems weird…and more importantly, bring me some rice crackers.”

“Will do.” Izzy stood up.

“Wait…” Jobeth said.

Izzy waited for a few beats. “What?”

She seemed confused. “I was going to say something…”

“And I was going to be riveted,” Izzy cracked.

Frowning, Jobeth said, “I’m the witty one. You don’t get to be witty.”

“Witty is genetic, apparently. Don’t fight it.” She started for the door again and paused, studying her sister. “It bothers you that I’m doing this stuff without you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re stealing my thunder.”

“I’m stealing a few drops of rain, that’s all. It’s not exactly exciting.”

“Part of the job. But sometimes it can get interesting.”

“Yeah, when will that happen?”

“It will happen when…something happens.”

Izzy snorted. “How much medication are you on?”

“Not enough, apparently, because it hasn’t taken away the pain of your presence.”

“Oh, all right, cranky-pants. I’ll let you go back to sleep.” Izzy paused at the door, eying the discarded footwear by the bed. “Oh, do you want me to fetch your slippers?”

“Vamoose!”

Izzy laughed and closed the door on her way out.

Be the first to like.

December 15th, 2012

AUTHORS, BOOKS, change, Fiction, HUMOR, Kate Genet, Kelli Jae Baeli, lesbians, moving, novels, OneNote, PUBLISHING, reading, RELATIONSHIPS, SEXUALITY, SOFTWARE, WRITING, writing business, WRITING LIFE

Diversify and Die

Kate_Dunedin_BeachNov12_480 It’s so satisfying to sit at my desk and write to the sound of the ocean. Only this time, it’s not in my earbuds, but outside my window. Our move to Dunedin placed us within walking distance of the beach, and the rhythmic breath of the waves at shore soothes me. The cool, robust breeze from the water sometimes spits through our windows like a fire hose, but it helps regulate the temperature in this upstairs master suite, high above almost all other houses on this hillside. It’s Summer here, though luckily for me, the fall and winter-loving, heat-intolerant moi, there really hasn’t been much heat yet. Weather is weird everywhere, as I understand it.

Anyway, we’re finally settling in to our new home (not new, per se, but new to us), and we can both feel the pull of literary pursuits, engendered by the sense that the busy work of our lives calmed down, and we are able to deskpic16DDec12_320 finally create some normal routines.

In OneNote, I have a tabbed list of blog ideas, just waiting for me to finish. Not so different from all the book ideas I also have–started or half-completed –just waiting for my attention. The problem isn’t that I don’t want to give my attention to them, it’s that I don’t have enough attention to go around. I really do look forward to the day when I can clone myself.

(Though Kate says in matters of sex, that would give her a heart attack.)

That being said, (much to Kate’s chagrin) I will now give my attention to this blog post….

Kate and I talked a while back, before the move, about our writing–what our goals are, and the changes we are anticipating having to make.

In my quest to learn the craft of writing, I thought it would be helpful if I had the ability to write in any genre. bookgenres Thus, over the years, I have managed to produce work in myriad categories. Fourteen, at last count. But it has become clear to me in recent months that my approach has not been wise. This diversification has only managed to erode the ground under my literary feet, and prevent me from getting a proper foothold in the market–especially when so many other writers have established theirs. And they are the ones who enjoy better sales. There’s a reason for that.

DeanKoontzspines It seems that most of THOSE-WHO-READ (myself included, though I made the error of thinking other readers behaved differently) tend to pick the type of book or author they like, or both, and then they continue to read that book/author. When they run out of an author’s work, they seek other authors who write in a similar genre and/or with a similar style. Thus, the readers who buy my books have read whichever genre of mine they are drawn to, and then discover there isn’t another book in that genre from me, and they move on to find those other authors they might also like who have books available which they have not read. This does not encourage a strong, growing readership.

Also, in diversifying myself as an author, I have failed to brand myself well enough to create the following that mybooks2012shelf_1268med probably would have existed by now, after 29 books. Had those 29 books been in one genre, I would not have taken such a hit when digital publishing swelled to its current oceanic level. According to factzone.com, in America, a new book is published every 13 minutes. This groundswell of publishing is attributable to the ease with which we can now publish our work. Yes, that means more bad books from bad writers mucking up the booklist for the rest of us, but it also means more freedom, and demands that we employ smart-marketing techniques. Hence, the issue at hand with my diversification.

My highest sales occurred when I was writing in one genre for an extended period of time and had not gotten off that beaten path yet into nonfiction, for instance. Subsequently, my sales dropped. And right when I was getting used to having that rather large paycheck every month.

Kate also feels she needs to focus more on the mainstream horror genre she prefers to write in, and not give so much attention to the lesbian genre, which for a horror author, is a very small piece of the royalty pie. Not exactly a thriving subgenre yet.

The new plan for me is to refocus my energies on the lesbian fiction genre, even though I might not always write the same subgenre inside that. I need to rebrand myself as the author of a particular genre, and keep putting out books for it. It will mean rewriting what I have on five or six or seven partially completed books in order to fit my chosen genre, but the effort will probably be worth it. And I have noticed, in reframing those other stalled books, that it would solve the issues that stagnated them in the first place. Some of them were for the mainstream market and I just could not seem to get past a certain point with them. I suspect, because I should have been sticking with the one genre instead of branching out. Hopefully it will put me back on track to producing more books, more frequently.

{Cracking knuckles.} Now back to work.

3 people like this post.

November 25th, 2012

adventure, adventure genre, Affinity eBooks, Also Known As DNA, AUTHORS, Book Reviews, BOOKS, Colorado, detective, erotica genre, Fiction, GENRES, Kelli Jae Baeli, Lesbian fiction genre, lesbians, lesfic genre, mystery genre, Private Investigator, romance-genre, romantic suspense genre, SEXUALITY, suspense genre, women, WRITING

“mixture of humor, gut wrenching terror & emotional heartbreak amongst the action and romance” Review

Review of Also Known as DNA

by Terry at Affinity eBooks

AKA Investigations Series Book 2

Jobeth O’Brien and her partner, Phoebe McMasters, are enjoying a peaceful life together on Manor Lane in Colorado after moving from Oklahoma. Jobeth has her P.I License and has her own agency, AKA Investigations. Their new start together is suddenly interrupted by ghosts from the past.

First of all, Jobeth’s estranged sister Izzy turns up out of the blue. At first Jobeth and Izzy don’t appear to get on too well together. But as they get to know one another, that changes. Izzy turns out to be more like Jobeth than either of them thought.

Phoebe’s past comes back to haunt her. In fact, it causes heartbreak for both Phoebe and Jobeth in a big way.

Ginger, Jobeth and Phoebe’s detective friend, has moved to Colorado with them and occupies the cottage behind their house. Ginger is looking for love. Will she find it? Ginger and Izzy appear to get on well together. But Izzy is a lot younger than Ginger and she’s not into relationships. Will Ginger get her heart broken?

It will take the ingenuity of all four of these women to get rid of the ghosts from the past. But will they be able to keep themselves alive to outwit the deranged felons?

***

Even though the plot to this story stretched my imagination a bit, I actually thoroughly enjoyed the story.

I loved Jobeth, Phoebe and Ginger from Armchair Detective and to have them back again is a true pleasure. Izzy has joined the three other women and her character has fit right in with the others. They all interact so well together and play an essential part in furthering the story.

I don’t want to add any spoilers in here, but suffice it say that the story is a rollercoaster ride of twists and turns throughout. There are so many ups and downs, the book is a real page turner from start to finish.

There is a mixture of humor, gut wrenching terror and emotional heartbreak amongst the action and romance. If anything, this story is even better than the first one. Both books are standalone, but I would strongly advise reading Armchair Detective first. It gives more of the characters background. Plus you would be missing out on another good book if you don’t.

I’m hoping there will be another in this series soon.

Be the first to like.

November 24th, 2012

AKA Investigations series, Also Known as Syzygy, Another Justice, AUTHORS, Behind the Left, blurbs, BOOKS, Colorado, CREATIVITY, Curse of Cache La Poudre, eBooks, Fiction, GENRES, Hanging the Moon, Human Nature, inspiration, Kate Genet, Kelli Jae Baeli, Lesbian fiction genre, lesfic genre, muse, mystery genre, novels, plotting, Psychological Suspense genre, PSYCHOLOGY, Quintessence, RELATIONSHIPS, Somewhere Else, suspense genre, timeline, women, writer, WRITING, WRITING CRAFT, WRITING LIFE

Prequels, Sequels, & Spinoffs

Syzygy. Amazingly, the only English word with three Y’s also happens to describe a rare astronomical event involving three heavenly bodies. A syzygy is the alignment of three celestial bodies in a straight line…

On December 3, 2012, Saturn, Venus & Mercury will align. On that same night, 3 women align to see that justice is done.

Ponzi Bonnet thought she had found the perfect husband. A psychologist could certainly understand her damage. But her suspicion of infidelity turns out to be something far worse. Far more sinister. And he had to be stopped.

This new book I’m working on–and almost finished with–is altogether different from any of my others. For one, it’s darker. I usually like to write “dramedy”– an equal mixture of drama and comedy. And I lean toward romantic – suspense – adventure -style plots. The plot in Syzygy is adventuresome, but perhaps that’s where the similarity ends. It deals with some darker subjects. Some disturbing places in the human psyche. I’m not sure of it…I haven’t even let Kate read any of it. She will be acting as my first Beta reader, because I want an impression based on the entire book, without any foreknowledge of content. (Just like most readers get to approach a book). But this has also made it more challenging, because I can’t discuss it with her to help me work things out–to be fair, or to perhaps torture me, she is also keeping mum on her current book (Irrevocable). I will be Beta reader on that one too.

So here’s what happened….I had been working on the 3rd in my AKA Investigations series and I was having trouble with it. Not surprising, after having so much trouble in the last couple of years with the writing…huge changes, huge challenges, and so much had been happening in my life to suck the muse right out of my head…(any of you who read my blog regularly are familiar with what I’m referring to). So I continued to struggle with this one…and then I realized what the problem was. Oddly, I was having trouble getting my MAIN characters in the book after the halfway point. Not a good sign. One of the subplots had started growing and I found that my main characters were being left out in favor of a couple of minor characters. So I thought, well maybe there’s another book here…maybe I’m trying to write two books. So I snatched out the plotline and characters from that portion and put it in a separate file and began to work on it–feeling like I was sort of “cheating” on my other characters by doing so. But it was pushing me to be written. Those characters were being insistent. They had a story to tell and they wanted me to tell it.

So. I was surprised about this new book. It wasn’t even on the docket.

SIDEBAR. I have been trying for years now to get all the other books written that are waiting in line. Some half-done, some just ideas. Like Quintessence, Somewhere Else, Curse of Madagascar, Another Justice, The Girls in the Band, and newer ones like, Hanging the Moon [with Kate Genet], Behind the Left: Authoring the Apocalypse, and a sequel to Resurrection Sticks –and those are just the fiction ones

This book, Syzygy, is also a concept-novel. A concept I came up with–not sure if anyone else ever came up with it too, but for me at least, it’s a new idea…it’s what I might call a spinoff-prequel. The new book sprang from the events and secondary characters of the original one. I started thinking about how interesting it would be to know more about those characters–like, what was happening in THEIR lives, that was just outside the purview of the plot in the book I was working on? What might that scene be like if it was written from the point of view of that other character? So then, an entirely new story evolved, but it was based on the original story in the AKA book. Only, it focused on those secondary characters, making them main characters, and then the main characters from the AKA book became the secondary characters in the new book. So here, I have a timeline of events, and in Syzygy, I’m telling the story of Ponzi Bonnet, Kenda Harper, Anna Dew, Garrison Bishop and Payne Hollister. And in AKA, I’m telling the story during the same timeline but through the characters of Jobeth, Phoebe, Izzy and Ginger. It almost means I need to write both of these books and release them at the same time, but that might be too maddening. So I think I will finish and release Syzygy first, since its timeline might be a little earlier, by about a week or two, than the AKA book. It would also give away less than the AKA book would, if I did that one first. I don’t want to have one book serving as a SPOILER for the other.

I feel like I’m rambling. I’m on first cup of coffee…NOTE TO SELF. Don’t ramble. anyway…

It’s a different sort of challenge, as it’s almost like writing a series, but slightly different…I have to think about what I write in Syzygy affecting what I’ll be writing in the 3rd AKA book. I have to make sure I don’t contradict things. Like I can’t have two different things happening to a character at the same time

(or can I?….. STOP IT.)

All of this has me thinking that there are all these other stories that can stem from stories I’ve written. The other perspectives. The other characters who play a minor role, but have an entire world of their own going on during those events. It’s also a way to create a thread of interest in readership–those who enjoy my books will find alternate stories that are peripheral to the ones they’ve already read. I find the whole concept fascinating. I hope a reader would, too. I have recently been concerned about my literary diversification–I do myself no favors by gaining a reader who then reads a certain genre of mine and realizes there aren’t any more of those yet, but that I jumped over and wrote nonfiction, or in some other genre…. (That’s another blog I wrote half of, but haven’t posted yet).

Jeez. I’m scattered.

Did I mention we’re moving 2 hours away in a week?

Yeah. got that nonfiction stuff to deal with too.

1 person likes this post.

November 7th, 2012

Book Reviews, BOOKS, fear, Fiction, freedom, Fundamentalism, Human Nature, Kelli Jae Baeli, PHILOSOPHY, POLITICS & GOVERNMENT, RELIGION, women

The Handmaid’s Tale: An American Dream Gone Awry

Throughout our recent election process, I kept thinking about how a Romney presidency would begin to remind me of The Handmaid’s Tale, the dystopian novel by Margaret Atwood. It reminded me that I wrote a paper on this book years ago in college. I don’t seem to have it compiled in any of my published anthologies, so i thought i would post it here. It’s a timely piece of literature still, which does not speak well of our republic. The Tea-Party is just the sort of organization to bring this dystopian theocracy to fruition. Hopefully those things are back on the road to change, now that we have 4 more years with Obama.

The Handmaid’s Tale

An American Dream Gone Awry

Kelli Jae Baeli
(c)1990

In today’s futuristic literature, one can find the foreshadowing of tomorrow’s issues splattered upon today’s newspapers.

Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale is a haunting portrayal of the American Dream gone awry. In the pages of this ominous novel, one finds echoes of a past not unlike our present, and a future twisted by the repercussions of religious zeal and environmental devastation. Many of the horrors reflected by the handmaid who narrates represent the agenda of issues touted by feminists: sexism, pollution, Christian-Fundamentalism’s dangerous inclinations, and racism.

The Handmaid’s Tale is a chilling look at a futuristic society wherein the government rules through oppression, deprivation, and threat of execution. Atwood’s vision is at once frightening and credible, illustrating a scenario that demands attention and consideration from all–whether they believe in the power of the American Dream, or not.

The Handmaid’s Tale uses the Republic of Gilead as its setting, and the themes of the American Dream are played out upon this stage; the players easily represent the crude underbelly of current-day society and its victims. Christian- Fundamentalists, after a coop which results in the machine-gun execution of Congress and the President, usurp the freedoms which Americans once enjoyed. Reading has been outlawed; personal property is now a thing of the past; all liberties are taken from the citizens of Gilead, so that it is reduced to a tyrannical theocracy. This is Atwood’s fictional rendition of the New World.

The Christian-Fundamentalist government in The Handmaid’s Tale has taken as its basic tenets the teachings of the Old Testament and interprets all scripture in a literal sense. This includes the procreation process as depicted in the book of Genesis wherein Rachel offers Jacob her maid, Bilhah, as a surrogate when Rachel

is unable to conceive. In Atwood’s Gilead, this surrogate motherhood is a must; a ghastly combination of pollution and environmental apathy has left many women sterile. With the extinction of the human race so threatened, the conception of

children is assigned to the those women with “viable ovaries.” A monthly ceremony is acted out by each Commander, his barren wife, and the fertile handmaid. Restricted to clinical, procreative purposes only, the Commander inseminates the handmaid assigned to him while the Wife holds the handmaid between her legs in a ritualistic manner.

The Old Testament’s influence is further reflected in the names of shops which deal in goods and produce. The handmaid is sent with a token card representing the items her household wishes to obtain (all paper money has been banned), and she makes her purchases from shops such as “All Flesh,” “Loaves and Fishes,” “Lilies of the Field,” and “Daily Bread.” On her trip to the marketplace, she walks with another handmaid, each of them exchanging puritan-like greetings: “Blessed be the fruit” and “May the Lord open.” Every detail in the Republic of Gilead is arranged as a continual reminder of the religious dogma upon which their very existence depends.

Although Gilead is patriarchal in structure, women are at the center of its operation. The women of Gilead are merely a sad facsimile of the future-woman that today’s feminists wish for. The axiom, “Be careful what you wish for–you just might get it” seems to apply here. In Gilead, women are respected only for their role in the Republic, and considering the strong role females play, it is not surprising that the crime of rape is punished by placing the offender amid a crowd of handmaids, who proceed to beat, kick, scratch, and bludgeon him to death. This ritual

serves as a deterrent to those who would disrupt the valuable procreative process and also recruits in the handmaids a sacredness toward their reproductive duties; this component perpetuates the masterplan of the government.

Within the general understanding of the American Dream, there is also a respect for reason, and though the crime of rape is no less reprehensible than in the Gileadean era, the perpetrator is at least entitled to due process, and vengeance is considered contrary to the true nature of justice. Likewise, reason is ignored by the Republic in its view of friendship as another threat to the government; the distortion of reason is also represented by the perception that freedom of the individual to act out that individuality is strictly insidious.

Progress is achieved in Gilead through a stringent, imperious process of cultural distinction. Classes and races of people are judged and punished according to literal Biblical teachings, as well: The “Children of Ham” are relocated, Jews are sent back to Israel, and undesireables, et al (Catholics, homosexuals, Quakers, abortionists, etc.) are sent to “the Colonies.” Handmaids who fail to perform satisfactorily are also doomed to the Colonies wherein the inmates dispose of deadly pollutants and subsequently die slowly of chemical poisoning.

Depending on the severity of the crime, undesirables can also look forward to public execution, their bodies hung on hooks along the wall around the city in a macabre display of power.

The “work-ethic” ingredient of the American Dream is overturned in The Handmaid’s Tale. Duties and positions in the society are assigned according to each person’s usefulness to the general philosophy of Gilead. Fertile women become handmaids; affluent women become Wives; older, able-bodied women become Marthas (domestic servants), and some become Aunts– sort of the Drill Sergeants in charge of other women. Men are either Commanders or servants or valuable professionals. Accordingly, the element of marriage and family in the American Dream is regressed to a pre-Christ patriarchy that avoids all semblance of individual freedom. Thus, the family unit, which is a staple of the American Dream, is warped into some cruel mockery of the freedoms once enjoyed by American citizens.

There are, as one might expect, rebel factions at work in the underground of this hellish kingdom who hold dear the Old World in The Handmaid’s Tale. These Old World values are familiar and alarming to the reader because it is the world in which the reader lives; Atwood incarnates this New World by momentarily suspending the reader’s disbelief, and this tale suddenly becomes plausible. Gilead is entangled with the infamous Armageddon outside the walls of the city, and the struggle for restoration of the Old World continues despite the government’s attempts to conquer it. Perhaps this illustrates the spirit of the American Dream–patriotism. These rebel forces operate with the knowledge that if one of its members is caught, he or she will most assuredly pay the price with his or her own life. Yet, life to them is meaningless unless they have some say in how they live it, and thus, the mentality of New World versus Old World is brought boldly to life.

If the American Dream is a vision of utopia, then The Handmaid’s Tale is most certainly a dystopia, as it contains a plethora of details regarding the oppressive existence of an imprisoned people, once free. Atwood paints an ugly portrait of a future society starved for a new Eden, with its land of plenty. The “plenty” offered in the Republic of Gilead, however, is plenty of oppression.

In The Handmaid’s Tale the pursuit of the American Dream is counter- productive. Gilead is the result of fanatics who sought to create the perfect society, yet manage to create a living hell. They are blinded by the pursuit of the dream itself and have, in the process, lost large segments of their own humanity. Unfortunately, Americans have become entrenched in the liberties that freedom gives them, and thus, many freedoms are taken for granted. This considered, it is easy to see how the American Dream may seem a myth to some in today’s society. But if all the basic ingredients afforded within that myth were taken away, it might be seen through contrast that the myth is perhaps an exaggeration of an underlying truth.

Be the first to like.

November 2nd, 2012

elections, Facebook, fear, friendship, frustration, intelligence, Kelli Jae Baeli, Mitt Romney, POLITICS & GOVERNMENT, President, RELIGION

Clogging the Feed

Dear Facebookers: I will try not to clog the feed. I will try to post things with some time in between, but FIRST: I am posting to MY PAGE. If you don’t want what i post in your feed, it’s simple to just click the arrow and remove my posts from YOUR FEED. That’s called Choice. It’s a great concept.

SECOND: please know, that i am not posting a bunch of flower pictures. Let’s just get our priorities clear, shall we? I am posting information that i feel voters should know in order to make an informed decision. And I firmly believe that this is the most important presidential election in hundreds of years. I am truly afraid of the negative impact on America, if Romney is allowed to sit in the seat of the highest office in the land. I am horrified by all that will be lost–women’s rights, healthcare, civil rights, freedom to believe what you wish or NOT BELIEVE AT ALL. Instead we will get tax cuts of some 5 trillion $ for the WEALTHY so that the middle class and the poor can SUFFER SOME MORE, reversal of rights to love who you wish, and receive the same legal rights as anyone else, and a foreign policy that solves all problems with war and coercion–and this, from a man who doesn’t understand the geography of the Middle East enough to know where the SEAS are located. A Romney presidency will mean heading toward theocracy, (as the Tea-Party and other Fundies will have far more power) and if you know the history of America, you know that it was formed to escape THAT VERY THING. It didn’t work the first time, and it won’t work now. And there’s not enough open, uncharted land left on Earth to start another America.

I have recently begun culling the Romney-voters from my friends list. Not because they disagree with me, but because they disagree with FACTS. (And the concept that anyone can DISAGREE with a FACT is in itself troubling, as it’s insipid and nonsensical). I can scarcely stand another moment of ignorance jammed in my face when information about the facts is EVERYWHERE at everyone’s fingertips. There is no longer any viable excuse for this to go on. Intelligent people everywhere have to stand up and say it’s not okay anymore to behave ignorantly, when knowledge and truth is so readily available to all. It’s not okay to force religion into government (hello! Separation of Church and State, anyone?). I am a moderate Independent in my politics, but things have shifted, so that I have to take a hard line this time. Wherever the facts and the truth and my ethical core lead me, I will go, regardless of party.

That just happens to be Obama.

Be the first to like.

September 23rd, 2012

book trailers, BOOKS, change, Colorado, danger, fear, Fiction, Kelli Jae Baeli, love, novellas, RELATIONSHIPS, Resurrection Sticks, science fiction genre, scifi genre, speculative fiction genre

Resurrection Sticks -Book Trailer

my novella, Resurrection Sticks

Be the first to like.

September 23rd, 2012

book trailers, BOOKS, Fiction, Kelli Jae Baeli, mainstream fiction genre, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, WRITING

Baggage – Book Trailer

My mainstream book, Baggage.

Be the first to like.

September 22nd, 2012

AUTHORS, characters, CREATIVITY, experience, fear, frustration, identity, Kelli Jae Baeli, novelist, parenting, PHILOSOPHY, PSYCHOLOGY, writer, Writer's Block, WRITING, WRITING CRAFT

Bloody Hands

Every novelist should sit down at the keyboard with blood on their hands.

To know what it feels like to have been wronged and to have wronged. To be guilty and innocent.

A novelist must have truly lived her life–sucked the marrow, tended the wounds, lashed out in fear and anger, in order to write a story that speaks authentically at deeper levels; that explores human nature and the human condition in all its beauty and ugliness. A novelist must have experienced life–that visceral knowledge that comes only from having felt the range of emotions, discovered the myriad permutations of challenge and question and suffering and joy. There are indeed degrees of depth in a story and in the characters that populate its pages. We can write for entertainment, and leave it at that, or we can dig deeper. I enjoy the writing most when it marries the elements of humor and drama. When I can show characters facing challenges, while also interacting in sometimes absurd or humorous ways. I love witty repartee as much as heartfelt confessions or moments of miscalculation. You can only impart this protean story if you have been in the trenches and know what it really feels like to get your hands dirty, your brain animated, your heart broken.

How would it even be possible, I wonder, for a novelist to be absent these characteristics? Perhaps she would have to be born in a remote mountain cabin and her mother die when she was young, and then continue to live there, avoiding the natural experience that just comes from living, and interacting with the world and the other people in it…but then, this isolated being would have experienced loneliness and loss, at least. So it is, as always, a question of degrees. Creative people, et al, by their nature feel things to a more intense degree than others. Not by virtue of what they do, but by who they are, which led them to express those things in what they do. You can learn vicariously through the stories of others, through television and literature, but this is no substitute for the experiences themselves.

While I can lament the sometimes painful history of my life, I know that I would not be nearly so well-rounded, would not have much wisdom to share, and would not be able to solve as many problems so effectively, nor communicate myself with any clarity, had I not journeyed through those challenges that so pained me, yet created a stronger individual.

This all begins, of course, with childhood, and the parenting we did (or did not) receive. I was not physically abused, but I was emotionally abused and some psychologists say (one actually said to me, specifically) that often emotional abuse is more difficult. If my parents had hit me (other than the slaps I received from my mother) then I would at least know they knew I existed. But I had an overweening sense that I was invisible. My parents ignored me for the most part. They were apathetic. Their sin was a sin of omission. I was always trying to exist. Trying to be noticed and acknowledged in some positive way, and given some indication that I mattered.

But this, I recognize as the reason for my attachment to my identity markers…the activities, thoughts and expressions that make me who I am. I am defined by those things I do, those things I create…I feel invisible without those identity markers. And this brings me back full circle to the writing. I am grateful that I have something to say when I sit down to write. I am chagrined that those words stem so often from loss and disappointment, and so rarely, from a place of hope and happiness. I am a writer. It’s as much a part of me as my skin. I can say that, even amid this writer’s block I have struggled with for the last few years. I know the delicate balance of identity was overturned, and it will take righting it again completely before I can return to my usual voluminous production. This is where discipline comes in. And I have dedicated myself, now, to sitting here and writing something every day. Anything. Even if it isn’t what I would prefer, nor quite yet what it was before.

But I know that because I do have blood on my hands, I am able to, with some measure of authority, say that I know what I write is real. Because it was hard won, and there were casualties.

2 people like this post.

September 1st, 2012

Affinity eBooks, Amazon, As You Were, AUTHORS, Book Reviews, BOOKS, Colorado, horses, Kelli Jae Baeli, PUBLISHING, romance, Smashwords, women, WRITING

As You Were: “well written and highly enjoyable romance, mystery and intrigue, with a light touch of humor”

Review

As You Were by Kelli Jae Baeli

Singer/songwriter Tru Morgan is totally in love with her live in girl friend Brittany (Brit) Jabot. Together they share a wonderful home on Red Mountain, Colorado. Their lives are idyllic, filled with their dreams, romantic nights and riding their beloved horses in a fairy tale, snowy setting. Life just couldn’t get much better for them……. Until one day, a malicious chain of events ends up being the indirect cause cause of a tragic accident.

Tru finds herself fighting to find the life she once had with Brit. This in itself is an uphill struggle, but add to it disruptive outside influences and it is going to be almost an impossibility. Some people just do not want to see Tru and Brit back together.

The question that has to be asked is…. Will Tru and Brit ever find their way back to the love so callously torn from them?

A well written and highly enjoyable romance, mystery and intrigue, with a light touch of humor. Although this story is basically a romance, there is so much more packed into it. So many twists and turns and ups and downs, it’s a real rollercoaster ride of highs and lows. I simply couldn’t put this book down and couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. I had to force myself to slow down. I wouldn’t advise starting this late at night, unless you don’t need to sleep.

***

The two main characters, Tru and Brit are poles apart throughout most of the book. I don’t want to put in any spoilers, but the emotional ride they are on, is hard going for them. The only thing I will say is, I wasn’t disappointed with the outcome of the story.

All the characters in the book were well formed and they each played their parts in progressing the story forward. The scenic descriptions made it easy to visualize being amongst the characters while the story evolves.

One thing I particularly liked about this book is the way we saw how Tru and Brit got together in the first instance in flashbacks. I do like to know the background of the characters.

This is the first book I’ve read by this author, now that I’ve found her, I’ll definitely be buying more.

=================
As You Were is available at

Be the first to like.

August 10th, 2012

adventure genre, Also Known As DNA, AUTHORS, book trailers, BOOKS, Colorado, Fiction, GENRES, Kelli Jae Baeli, Lesbian fiction genre, lesbians, lesfic genre, love, romance, sex, SEXUALITY, suspense genre, video, women, WRITING

Book Trailer for Also Known as DNA

Be the first to like.

August 9th, 2012

adventure genre, Also Known As DNA, Armchair Detective, AUTHORS, book trailers, BOOKS, ENTERTAINMENT, Fiction, GENRES, Kelli Jae Baeli, Lesbian fiction genre, lesbians, lesfic genre, love, mystery genre, romance, romance-genre, romantic suspense genre, sex, SEXUALITY, suspense genre, women, WRITING

New Book Trailer for Armchair Detective

Finally got around to making a book trailer. This was first one. Will post the others after this.

1 person likes this post.

August 5th, 2012

Also Known As DNA, AUTHORS, BOOKS, Colorado, Fiction, Kelli Jae Baeli, lesbians, love, passion, RELATIONSHIPS, romance, sex, women, WRITING

Excerpt from Also Known as DNA

Book 2 of the AKA Investigations series

~ 1 ~

Ceremonial Tarp & Dangle

I’m hanging upside down, wrapped in tarp, like some retarded Houdini.

How did this happen? Well, it all started with me, on the way to my car after a close call. Back to minding my own business. I always mind my own business because I know there are plenty of other people out there who will mind it for me, if I let them, and I don’t feel they’re more qualified to fuck up my life than I am.

Only that morning, I was meeting with a client. Which was, in a way, minding someone else’s business. But that’s the business I’m in. So I can mind someone else’s business and be minding my own business.

Glad I got that cleared up.

Lila Dixon was what one might call a tall drink of water. I never knew what that meant until I met her. She towered over me, and if I weren’t female, I’d say she threatened my manhood. Lila was also regal, and a perfectly lovely woman, but with some unpleasant truths rooted in denial. For instance, she thought it was okay to drink a couple bottles of wine and then drive. Maybe because she was so tall. But I wasn’t on her payroll to play DUI hall monitor. I was there to help her get something useful on her husband, so that she could finally get away from him, legally.

The briefing complete, she signed the tab and left me to finish my short drink of water, going out the rear door to her car, which she had clandestinely parked a block away, just to assuage her paranoia that the dreaded churlish hubby might follow her. I pulled my eCig out of my coat pocket and refilled the mouthpiece with chocolate mint eJuice. I had discovered the wonderful world of electronic cigarettes a few years ago, while searching for a way to quit. Now, I continued to enjoy them, since all the negatives about tobacco cigarettes didn’t exist with the electronic ones. It was just vapor, with the flavoring of your choice. Mine, being chocolate mint.

Lila Dixon’s plan to avoid discovery by her husband had apparently failed, I realized, her paranoia justified, as I saw him come in the front door, hairy knuckles dragging the floor, and recognized him from the photos. It was indeed the churlish one: Lila Dixon’s husband. The way he was looking at me during his approach made me realize he was on to me. He must have waited for her to leave, so he could rough me up, before going home to do the same to her. I pictured him chasing her with one of those cartoony Flintstones clubs. No time now to worry about her future roughing, I had my own to worry about.

I got up and headed for the door, but couldn’t get there through the salad bar, so detoured. The ladies room was just around the corner and I palmed the door open and went inside. He wouldn’t dare follow me in here, in a public restaurant, I told myself. I’m always telling myself these things so I won’t come unglued in a crisis.

I noticed that this restroom smelled purple, like some do. Not sure what the smell of purple is, but I always thought that particular scent just smelled like purple. I stepped into the first stall, and slammed the crooked metal door closed behind me, forcing it into the position to accept the sliding latch, ramming the latch closed just as the restroom entry door burst open and slammed into the wall.

Coarse, meaty hands darted under the door of my stall, and I leapt onto the toilet seat, one foot slipping into the bowl. I pulled my sodden shoe out of the water, and regained my breath, searching frantically for a way out. He shook the door violently, cursing me, and my eyes ascended to the small window above the sink on the other side of the stall. When I looked down again, he was crawling under, shoving his huge shoulders between the door and the ugly yellow linoleum, still reaching for me, straining, pushing at the bottom of the door. The latch wouldn’t stand for that very long, I knew. Why didn’t he just kick the door in? I wondered inanely. Maybe he thought it would make too much noise. The window I spied was small, yet still an escape hatch. The only one to be found. My escape hatches had always been small, but I’d always been able to find them. I’d be damned if I’d break that tradition now.

I climbed the metal wall, boosting myself with the chrome plumbing that rose above the toilet, flushing it accidentally. I’ve escaped down the toilet! my mind screamed absurdly at him, feeling a little crazy with fear. My first question was answered when he wobbled out from under the door and began to fling himself against it. I guess he didn’t care about the noise after all.

Once at the top, I tried to scale the wall without alerting him to my whereabouts, climbed onto the sink at the other side of the second stall, and pulled the window lever down, pushing the single pane open. Thankfully, there was no screen. Or lock. I took hold of the metal sill, hoisting myself up, my sneakered feet scraping the cinderblock wall, as I alternately pushed myself upward and glanced back at him. He had still not figured out that I was out of the stall, but the door was caving in nicely.

I managed to get my hips onto the sill and flail for a handhold on the dirt and leaves outside the ground-level window. I heard the door crash in, and craned my neck to see him struggling to his feet and watching me, his face red, his brows pulled together like the laces of my shoes.

In what seemed a nanosecond later, I felt his big hand close around my left ankle. Instinctively, I kicked at him, feeling myself being dragged back in. The sill scraped painfully across my hip bones and onto my stomach, stopping just under my breasts, and I was suddenly glad I was not flat-chested. I swung my right leg, sodden sneaker and all, as hard as I could toward his head, making contact, but to no avail. I was reminded of my encounter with the Pit Bull in the Stacey Cartwright case, and wasn’t sure if this situation was any less frightening than having a mean dog dangling from my arm as I tried to climb a chain-link fence.

Outside, my hand fell on a broken red brick left over from the construction of the building, no doubt hidden for years behind the shrubbery lining the ground-level windows. When he jerked at me again, I twisted like a cat, felt myself falling. My feet hit the edge of the sink, and I landed with my behind in the bowl, the faucet grinding into my back.

I winced at the pain the awkward landing caused, and when he stepped closer, I lifted the brick, surprised I still clutched it, and brained him. He staggered back, holding the side of his head and I jumped down from the sink, and whacked him again before he could recover. He fell against the wall of the injured stall, and it creaked with his weight. I hurried over to get one more lick in, and when he slumped, I started to climb the sink again, but then stopped, rolling my eyes at myself. I backtracked and went out the door, pausing only long enough to throw the brick at him. It landed on his chest.

The parking lot was just around the building, and in it, my Escalade. The trip to freedom was interrupted by a powerful odor and the sensation of someone’s arms around me. It wasn’t a hug.

When I woke up in the abandoned factory, I was of course unaware that it was an abandoned factory because I couldn’t see through the tarp that had cocooned me, as I dangled in the air by my feet.

What would Jim Rockford do? I don’t think my fictional TV idol had ever been hung upside down with a tarp around him. So I had to just imagine what he would do. And first, he would wait until his captors took the tarp off. Then he would find a way to…to get away.

I am fucked.

But then I heard voices and knew that any escape would be something I figured out on my own without the aid of TV detectives and their clever screenwriters.

“Catch of the day,” one said.

I felt pressure near my chest and looked down, which was really up, due to my unfortunate inversion. I saw the blade poke through and rip an opening up over my head, as I leaned away from the sharp steel of the hunting knife. Blessed oxygen poured over my face and I sucked it in like a black hole.

Even upside down, I recognized Jimmy Dixon, his beefy countenance usually found only in livestock yards.

“How’s it hangin’, Sherlock?” he grinned.

With forced candor, I said, “I am not having a good day.”

They both laughed. Jimmy had some nasty contusions on his face from my recent bricklaying. The other one, I didn’t recognize, so I figured he was the one who did the chloroform honors in the parking lot earlier. “We haven’t met formally.” I said to the accomplice. “I was distracted by unconsciousness…” He just grinned but didn’t offer his name.

“What are we going to do with you?” Jimmy Dixon wondered, without sincerity.

I was willing to lend a hand. “I have a suggestion.”

They laughed again, Dixon saying, “I bet you do.”

“I’m not okay with endangering my life for a disgruntled housewife. She’s not paying me shit anyway. Cheap bitch.” He seemed to like where I was going with this. “In fact, I think she underestimates you, Mr. D. I should be working for you instead. Got any little jobs that need to be taken care of?”

My head was pounding from the blood pooling there, and I was having trouble hearing him as he answered, “Yeah, you could take care of my wife.”

I pretended hesitation. “Is there anything in it for me?”

“Sure. You get to be put back on your feet again. Breathing.”

“That seems fair.”

They laughed, and the Chloroform Guy went over to the wall and untied the rope, slowly lowering me to the ground.

Just like that. It was too easy, but I wasn’t prepared to complain just yet.

As Dixon cut my bindings, and I kicked the tarp away, I checked out my surroundings. Door at the other end, too far away. About as far away, I recalled, as the fence was in that tractor yard during my Cartwright case. The one where the Pit Bull made his home, and anticipated a warm lunch from the armchair detective who made a wrong turn in her escape from another angry husband.

My fetters gone, I sat up and waited for the blood to drain back to my torso. Dizzily, I hefted myself up to stand in front of him. “Everyone has their transgressions. So what did she do to you?”

He lit a cigar and blew the Captain Black smoke in my face. “She wouldn’t let me have a girlfriend.”

“That’s just selfish.”

He grinned, enjoying the repartee. “I want her out of my life. Can you handle that?”

“To save my own skin? Hell yes.”

They both laughed again. We were all having such a good time. The only thing missing was wine and cheese. He pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here’s her schedule. All the places she goes to spend my money.”

“I’m on it,” I said, taking the paper. I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket, and punched up the recorder app, bold as neon, started recording and then switched to a contact list. “How do I reach you?” He stood there and watched while I touched in the number and saved it. “Now, Mr. Dixon, sir, when you say you want me to get rid of your wife…I don’t want any nasty misunderstandings later. You mean you want her—“

“Dead.”

“Well that’s clear enough.” I poked the iPhone back in my pocket. “I’ll be in touch.” Then I just headed for the door, as if I had a set of brass balls and knew how to shine them.

“Hey—“

I felt my renewed hope begin to dwindle. I stopped and turned to face him.

“Don’t fuck me over, or you’ll be back in that tarp, skiing behind my boat.”

I made a clicking sound and pointed a finger-gun at him. “Got it.” Then I turned and continued to the door. I actually made it all the way outside without a single piece of lead in my back. Perhaps I’ve underestimated the kindness of strangers.

As I walked, I pulled out my phone and stopped the recording, tapped play, and listened to him convict himself. Loved my iPhone.

I continued up Jason Street to Lipan, and called a cab, waiting in front of Stomp Them Grapes, a homebrew wine making supply place. After my recent tarping, a glass of wine sounded pretty good to me.

================

Also Known as DNA can be purchased at Smashwords or Amazon or at my website

Be the first to like.