I had the urge to share this; I wrote it several years ago (3ish?) as an answer to someone else’s challenge, and reading it, I was reminded of a part of myself I haven’t seen much of, in recent years. After all, I’m happy and settled and all those things; and if you’re nearly always the dominant one, there’s very little of the chase left, after years of being together. Even so, this was nice to read about myself, and I figured someone out there might agree.

So, from 2011 (maybe 2012) the below, entitled (before it was written), “Seduction”.

“Seduction? I have never seduced a man in my life.

I attack them. I rake my nails down their spines until they bleed, I bite their necks hard enough to bruise, I grab and thrust and hold and choke and arch and writhe and cry out, underneath them and above them and all around them, until they can’t take any more, and they fly off the edge of everything and into the swirling nothingness after me; but seduce them? I wouldn’t know how.

Maybe it’s because I’m not beautiful, have never been beautiful, will never be beautiful. Maybe it’s because I never learned how to cajole with my eyes, or smile with my voice, or deceive with my body. I’m too honest. Too hungry. Too passionate. I take lovers as a wild animal does–and a wild animal of the wrong gender, at that.

I am no bitch to hunker down, cowering, as the dogs come to sniff between my legs, and force me to the ground, and mount me from behind, over and over again, until my raw insides can take no more, and my slick scarlet blood stains the earth.

It’s not the ferocity or the bleeding I object to. It’s the one-sided-ness. If I can bleed, so can he (whomever he might be); and I am happy to show him how.

And although I’ve heard it said that some men prefer to be in control from start to finish–although I’ve heard it said that they like the chase, and the capture, and the taking of the spoils–I have never met the man who still felt that way, by the time I’d thrown him into my bed.

I am not beautiful. Have never been beautiful. Will never be, beautiful. But if you were flat on your back, staring into my eyes as I straddled you and rode you like the beast you are, you would never know it.

Seduction… it seems to be a word constructed out of lies, somehow; and I am not subtle enough to lie with my lips, nevermind the rest of my body.

If I want you, I won’t bother with seduction–I’ll just pounce.”


Les Mis (A Character Sketch)

So, I’ve been thinking about minor characters in films, books, TV shows, etc. Bit players, we might call them. The kind of characters who move the action along, and who stick with you, even if they don’t get as much air-time as the leads.

One of my favourite “bit” players is Javert, from Les Misérables. Not least of all because he reminds me of myself, at age 15 or so (yes, really, imagine a chubby girl with a Bible in her schoolbag, telling people that to get forgiveness, they have to REPENT, and that literally means to turn away from their sin, not keep doing it, what are we, Catholic?).

I mean, I know what we say about the paving stones on the road to Hell, but c’mon. How is being well-intentioned ever a bad thing? And Javert is, for all his immaturity and lack of foresight and trouble with flexible thinking, a person with almost completely good intentions. He’s trying to uphold the law. He’s trying to do the right thing, even when the price is high or he gets hurt for it. He rats *himself* out, for God sake (literally, for God’s sake, to please Him, in Javert’s eyes). Sanctimonious he may be; but Javert is also the straightest of straight arrows, in a time and place (reality?) where almost everyone is crooked and playing an angle. You have to respect that, or at least, I do.

I love the song, “Stars”. Particularly the line, “And if they fall as Lucifer fell, the flame, the sword…”. That was a year of my life, when I was just a kid. Every day spent worrying that I was going to fall, that I was too prideful or lustful or just generally wicked, and any minute now, I was going to cross some line and ruin my own salvation and burn for eternity.

(That burning for eternity thing keeps cropping up, in my life, but we don’t need to talk about it now.)

Moving back to Javert. I think what it is that moves me about him, is how principled he is. When it turns out he’s wrong, and that Jean Valjean isn’t the devil incarnate, and he’s essentially wasted his entire adult life trying to capture a dangerous criminal who’s, well, not, he literally cannot live with it. So he sticks to his guns, and *doesn’t* live with it. I can admire that kind of dogged, grim-death-style hold on what you think is right. And for me, the story gets a little less complex, a little less colourful, when we lose Javert. If it were up to me, I’d love to keep him around, but… then he wouldn’t be the completely righteous, rigid-thinking, devout, holy, moral and principled and idiotic cop that we know and love. And, I suppose, it’s more important that we love and appreciate him for who he is, than it is that we get to keep him.

Anyone else have any thoughts on this?


On the Pros and Cons of Being AmandaQuirky

I’m sure this is the case for most of us here, but I’m just gonna come out and say it:

This is not my first blog.

Oh, sure, it’s my first blog where I’ve come out, mask off, and used the online handle that’s been “me” for… 10 years, now?… but as far as spraying my innermost thoughts into the Wild Wild Web goes, this is not my first rodeo. And the other day, a friend asked me about this (whether or not I have older writing online, where it can be found, etc) and it got me thinking about why I *am* going by such a traceable, easily identifiable version of myself, here.

After all, I write plenty of things that are inflammatory. I come from a close-knit family of very sincere, mostly straitlaced Pentecostals and, on the other side, Baptists; and I think it’s fair to say I’m relatively liberal, in my own leanings. As far as God goes, He and I have an understanding; I understand Him as something altogether different from what I was raised to perceive Him as, and He takes me as I am because, well, He’s God. It’s sort of the cornerstone of who He is and what He does… or so *I* choose to believe. But around my folks, I do try to keep my more unusual beliefs to myself. This is not out of shame or concern for what they’ll think of me (half of them already hide my Facebook profile from their Newsfeed anyway) but because, what’s the point? No one’s mind was ever changed because someone shouted opposing ideas loudly enough–and dare I say, in the case of religious fundies, even a rational, factually-supported debate is unlikely to do much. That all being the case, why *would* I rabbit on about my beliefs in front of them? Unlikely though it may seem, I’m not in the habit of alienating people for shits and giggles… I just seem to do it naturally.

In which case, why be so open with this blog? Why use mine and my family’s real names (given names, rather than surnames–but even so) and why have actual pictures of myself on the blog, and why use a handle that people I’ve not spoken to in 5 years would probably recognize as me? It was in thinking about my old blog, that I gave myself the answer.

This is a way to hold myself accountable. And if that fails, the people who truly know me, who love me because of or in spite of all my flaws, can hold me accountable. I’m trying not to advertise information in this medium that would actually lead to me and mine being less safe; but I’m trying to put in plenty that will make me recognizable enough, that if I start to go off the rails and rant like a deranged housewife with too much time on my hands, people who matter will see it, and call me on it, and stop me from embarrassing and/or shaming myself.

My last blog fell down, on that point; I began it in the lead-up to getting divorced (or it feels like that’s when I started it–I was planning divorce long before it happened) and at points, the blog is just the mindless, angry rantings of a woman who’s both a misanthrope and, particularly, a misandrist. SO MUCH of that blog is just a hate-letter to my now-ex-husband, or to friends who let me down (or so I perceived it) the first time I really tried to leave him… I don’t want to find myself reading that kind of ill-reasoned, unnecessary, just plain unhelpful vitriol ever again, and especially not from my own mouth (hand, brain, whatever). This, this being so much myself so everyone can see me and know me AS myself, is a safety measure, to make sure that doesn’t happen again.

Of course, I do have to cut myself a little slack, in that I was suffering from untreated depression/anxiety AND the sort of marriage in which each party is, at least occasionally, abusive to the other; that situation is unlikely to happen again, and so maybe, I’m in no danger of the kind of (crazed?) writing that, when I look back at it, makes me cringe and even blush. On the other hand, I’ve come off my meds more than once, in the past 3-4 years (how long have I been taking them…?) and so, one more safety precaution is probably not a terrible idea. Better safe than sorry, it can’t hurt even if it doesn’t help, etc etc. Plus, I’m just generally trying to hold myself accountable in all aspects of my life… why not do it here, as well?

Of course, this is all going to bite me on the ass when I *do* write something I should’ve kept to myself, and I wind up getting the virtual equivalent of hate mail from people I’ve known and loved all my life… but that’s just par for the course, for me. After all, it’s not so much that I’m forever marching to the beat of a different (tactless, occasionally brutal, often scatter-brained) drummer… Baby, I am the literal drumbeat itself. And all discussions of accountability aside… I couldn’t march to another rhythm if I wanted to.

Which I don’t.

Accountability and being myself it is, then… and whatever price I have to pay for that, it can’t be as bad as rereading my old blog. That shit gets more humiliating every time I do it.