Last night I went to Jacqueline Carey’s book signing at the Powell’s in Cedar Hills.  Jacqueline Carey and Donna Gillespie are my two favorite authors and Jacqueline’s series Kushiel’s Legacy is my favorite set of books. I reread them consistently, and buy multiple copies as loners and gifts.

Four years ago I learned she would be the guest of honor at a writer’s conference in Seattle, and like any good stalker I signed up to go meet her and mingle with fellow writers.  It was one of the best weekends I had in regards to my craft and learning I was not alone in the world with this burning need to tell stories and capture imaginations.

As it turned out, there were almost 30 erotica and romance writers there as well and I found a niche with my fellow deviants.

At the same time I had a chance to meet Jacqueline and it was my first real star shock.  I’ve met movie stars and been at parties with big actors and actresses. It doesn’t impress me the way that a finely tunes book with sweat and tears and blood poured into it does.

I’d showed up at the conference which was small and intimate, having just gotten off the train and ridden in a cab I felt dirty and tired and walked into a room where Jacqueline was talking in a group.  I sat in a chair near the back and nibbled on the snack foods that were prepared and listened to her talk and all I could think about was, “ohmygod.ohmygod.ohmygod. She’s here! The best writer ever! And she’s so nice!” I was intimidated and scared of her and as if she somehow knew this, she turned to me and said, “Why don’t you come take this empty seat and join the discussion?”

I shuffled forward and sat nearby and although I have no idea what I said – I’m sure it was pure unintelligent drivel and babbling.

Over the next few days my fear of her wore off as we sat over lunch or dinner or ambled around on the back deck of the hotel while people smoked. There was plenty of opportunities to ask questions and as my star shock wore off it was immediately replaced by a firm and powerful admiration for her character which only elevated my opinion of her writing.

Jacqueline Carey is a very beautiful woman, physically and energetically.  She was kind and patient with a girl still figuring out how to grab the dream of writing. She answered questions, offered encouragement and never outwardly expressed any negative judgments.  In short. She was brilliant and I treasure that conference experience for having been able to meet her and several other brilliant people.

As it happened, on the last night when we were all standing around out back and telling stories, mostly erotica based and comical, (I guess what happens when you have a professional dominatrix, Mistress Aries, a famous erotic fantasy writer, Jacqueline Carey and a loud mouthed shameless spotlight whore – myself) and a good deal of alcohol floating around. Anyway, as stories of penning and torture emerged and the laughs started, I remember stepping up and telling my story about ginger figging. A funny, painful story that I share with some people – I was internally astounded that I was sharing it with stranger, much less in the presence of a writer I idolized.

The next morning before leaving she posed with pictures and I promises to send her copies (which I never did).

Honestly, even though I knew she was going to be signing last night, I hadn’t planned on going.

After a crappy day at work, I made the choice to leave early and drive out to Beaverton for the signing.  I milled around Powell’s for awhile while the line was really long. Picked up some books on scriptwriting and the last three books of her series. I was the second to last person in line and I walked up – I knew she wouldn’t recognize me and honestly had no secret desire to be recognized, because quite simply that would be ridiculously unfair to expect of someone.

I asked for her to sign the books to Athena and told her congratulations and said it was “very nice to meet you.”

I left and as I was driving away, I thought, “God! That sounded so insincere! I made it intentionally sound like I have never seen her before in my life! Because I didn’t want to feel like a stupid stalker fan. How fake. It wasn’t honest to her and it wasn’t honest to me. I should go apologize!”

I drove past a sign that said, “Trust your gut.” Pizza Schmizza and started laughing.

“Okay. So I’m a fan. A really big fan. What is there to be ashamed of in that? I mean really? Why am I embarrassed to call myself a serious fan of someone’s work? Does that make me sound like a stalker? Okay, what if it does?”

I turned around.

Drove right back and got out of the jeep as Jacqueline and her friend were walking out of Powell’s. I caught her on the steps out front.

“Ms. Carey. I just wanted to come back and say I’m sorry for being so dishonest. I have met you before. 4 years ago at the Writer’s conference in Seattle. I thought about telling you but it just seemed stupid but then I saw a sign that said ‘trust your gut’ and so I came back to say, I didn’t mean to sound so insincere.”

“Seattle? Wasn’t there a lot of alcohol at that conference?” She asked with a smile.

I nodded.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” she said.

“You never need to apologize for something like that. Plus there was a lot going on that weekend and there were a lot of drunken story telling nights with erotic content that I’m just fine with no one remembering.”

She tilted her head, “Did it involve ginger?”

DOH!

“Yes.” I said and shuffled as much from embarrassment as pleasure. “Yes it did.”

Great job, Athena. Way to make an impression with your idol by telling story about sticking ginger up your butt. That’s just fabulous.

I smiled and stuck my hand out. She got me, there was nowhere to go from there. “Well, I just wanted to tell you I’m really proud for you and all your work.  Congratulations.”

She took my hand to shake but pulled me into a hug. “Thank you. I’m glad you trusted your gut and came back.”

I pulled away and felt awkward and relieved at the same time.

I drove home blasting music and laugh crying. I have changed so much in four years. It’s amazing! Unbelievable.  It was like meeting a marker from a different lifetime and remembering that fundamentally, I have not strayed from my path as far as I thought.  I finally got published and have a book on shelves. I traveled and gained my independence. Years ago, I never actually believed I would be able to – back when I met her the first time those dreams seemed wholly unattainable. Then as I drove away, I knew – having met the one person who could potentially turn me into a babbling idiot – there is no place to go from this point forward but up. I’ve survived Star Shock.

Because honestly, is there anything more humbling to know than the impression you made on your own idol – it the knowledge that four years later they remember you simply because you tortured your own anus with raw ginger? Brilliant, Athena. I don’t think it gets better than that. 

Experimenting in being a woman.

I had a conversation with Indigo the other day about becoming a woman.  I have recently purchased 5 dresses. Yes, I know. Not my usually jeans and t’s or boots and sandals. Dresses. Weird.

It’s like I think I’m a girl or something. Weird.

So here’s the background: 30 is approaching and with it the psychological marker that I feel finally, that I have given myself the proper childhood I didn’t get to have – so now I can be a woman. FINALLY!

But what does being a woman mean? What is beautiful and feminine and strong at the same time? I have always felt like a tomgirl and have been able to pull off wearing lipstick while shooting a rifle or manicured toenails while climbing in the Alaskan wilderness. I have been able to balance, for the most part, rugged and girly.

Yet I have never managed the trick of having a woman’s body and accepting the attention of the male sex without feeling threatened or hostile or even remotely attractive.  Since I was 14 and developed hips and breasts and could no longer play football or hang with the guys – I have often felt like meat – perpetuated by several events like the bus driver and some scenes that played out to confirm this sense of being not attractive so much as targeted or available.

I believe now, that these things led me to develop a thought pattern that led to overeating in an attempt to hide my body. Prior to hiding my body I was fit and tone and muscular, in fact during cross training for swimming I was burning 3-4 thousand calories a day and pressing 350lbs with my legs. I was not a weakling, but I was also informed by the guy I was totally crushing on – that men don’t like buff women. Crap!

Fast forward to getting married right out of high school and I remained a girl through much of my 8 years. Finally, I have had a chance to be on my own, pay my own bills,  make my choices without affecting another persons level of security. Finally, I have had a chance to develop psychologically, with a sense of independence.  Independence that I guard almost a little too fiercely.

So this thing that seems to be missing is the acceptance that I am a woman. And with it the acknowledgement that my body may be noticed. Especially now that I am working out and the BodyQuest is getting results. I going to have to be able to quantify this.

I need –must-  prep myself to be okay with looking like a woman. Psychologically.  Obviously, some people are reading this going WTF? What did you think you were? Honestly, I have thought of myself as a box. Square and firm and not inviting – because I have not wanted to try to understand the attention. I thought of myself as a fortress, and like any good fortress, I keep people out, especially men who may cause harm with their thoughtless comments and painful observations of my form.

Indigo, who is a stunningly beautiful and feminine goddess said to me, “Learn to just go with it. Say thanks and acknowledge the compliment. You know when you walk past a group of construction workers and they holler at you and cheer and say, “you’re looking’ fine!” Don’t you think to yourself, yep, I’m looking fine today and you feel better?”

I started laughing, because my response to being catcalled has always been, “Go to hell fuckers!” Then I run home and eat ice cream and put on a baggy shirt.

The difference in how attention is perceived just between the two of us is amazing! Stunning! How have I let myself get to this point of fear and exclusion of my own body? How did I develop such horror about being recognized as a female?

The second half of my 90 day challenge is to learn to accept my femininity. It doesn’t mean I have to give up sports, or that I can’t have muscle. I can be a woman and be firm and tone and still attractive.  I can be independent and self sufficient and still not be in danger of being too masculine or fortress-like. I can still go shooting or fencing with painted toes and wear an evening gown out after my workout that shows cleavage and hips and fit, tones arms. I can re-develop the musculature of my days on the field or in the pool and not feel like I am hideous, and I can learn to wear a shirt that shows my midriff and NOT come to screaming threats and blows when some guy makes a comment about my bellybutton. I can do this.  I can accept the female form I have and not live in a constant state of sensing danger, or being afraid that the body I live in will attract a threat to my safety.

This next part of my plan is to dress like a woman. Maybe even over do it a little just to see what it’s like on the other side. Wear provocative things, and cute outfits. Wear perfume and makeup like I normally would, and let the chips fall where they may.  My plan is to let the guard down.

I will not hide my body in baggy clothes for 54 days. I will not put my frump on. I will intentionally accentuate my best parts and I will consciously not run away when those parts are noticed. I will go out. I will dance. I will order a drink and flirt (okay, that my be pushing it). I will smile like a woman smiles and I’ll see for myself – if I am there yet. I will see for myself if I am a strong enough woman to accept the probability that men just might find me attractive, just maybe.

I hereby announce that for the next 54 days, I will not attempt to hide my body behind food in an attempt to shield it from the masculine eye.

I also hereby acknowledge, without shame – that the previous declaration just made my hands start shaking with a substantial amount of fear.  Why this terror? But there it is. It scares the crap out of me, which means… I must do it, just to prove to myself that it’s not going to kill me.

Here it goes. Today I start faking it – to see if I can make it. Balance. Curves and Strength.  Feminine and Masculine. Love of my body. The body of a 30 year old woman.