27 October 2013

Rainbow Rita Learns to Show Her True Colors

Rough draft of the 1st in a series of feminist, LGBT-friendly children's books I want to do, let me know your thoughts! The later ones are going to be more explicit in their feminist and LGBT support, but I just wanted to introduce the character.
Rainbow Rita Learns to Show Her True Colors

Once upon a time, there was a Momma and a Papa. They were gray people who lived in a gray house and were happy with their gray lives. Except sometimes they felt like something was missing.

One day, they realized that what they were missing was a child. So, Momma and Papa Gray decided to have a baby together.

Many months later, it was Valentine’s Day, and Momma Gray gave birth to a healthy baby girl.

She weighed eight lbs. and was 20 inches long. She had ten fingers and ten toes. And she had the most amazing rainbow hair that anyone had ever seen. They decided to name her Rita.

The doctors and nurses told her parents, “We’ve never seen a child with such beautiful, colorful hair. Your daughter is very special.”

But Momma and Papa Gray weren’t ready for a rainbow daughter. They were afraid that other people would pick on her because she was different, and that scared them. Still, they took Rita home and promised that they would raise her and love her no matter what.

Rita was smart and strong. She liked when her mom and dad read books to her. She also loved to play outside and to look for bugs, but she loved getting dressed up and having tea parties with her stuffed animals, too.

Sometimes Momma and Papa Gray took her to the park to play with other kids. They didn’t want the other kids to know that Rita was different, though, so they put lots of hats on her to cover up her rainbow hair and protect her from being teased.

“We got these hats special for you, Rita,” Momma Gray told her.
“Never take your hat off,” said Papa Gray. “That way, no one will ever know that you’re different, and you will be safe.”
Rita knew that her parents loved her and wanted only the best for her, so she listened to what they said.

But when Rita started school, it became clear that her hair wasn’t the only special thing about her. She was the smartest girl in her class. She learned to read before anyone else.

And she was the fastest runner, even faster than any of the boys.

Sometimes other kids got jealous of Rita, but she was always so nice and friendly that no one could be mad at her. She had lots of friends.

 Everyone wanted to be on her team when they played sports at recess, and everyone wanted to sit by her at lunch. Momma and Papa Gray were very happy that Rita was so popular.

One day, at recess, it was very hot outside. Rita was playing tag, and she was getting really sweaty. She thought it would be okay to take her hat off for just a second to cool off.

When the other kids saw Rita’s hair, they were amazed at how pretty it was. Everyone stopped playing tag so they could look at her hair.

“I’ve never seen anyone with rainbow hair,” said Thomas.
“It’s so pretty!” exclaimed Daisy. “I wish I had rainbow hair!”
“Hey! She’s Rainbow Rita! That’s what her name should be!” Maria shouted, cheerfully.

Then, Miss Allie blew her whistle and said that recess was over, and the kids all started heading back inside. When Rita was about to put her hat back on, Daisy went over to her. “Why do you always cover up your hair, Rainbow Rita? It’s so beautiful!”
Rita was confused. “You don’t think it’s weird that it’s different from everyone else’s hair?”
“Of course not!” Daisy cried. “I love it! If I were you, I’d never wear a hat again! You’re Rainbow Rita! You shouldn’t try to cover up who you are.”

Rita was very happy that everyone liked her hair, especially Daisy. She decided not to wear her hat for the rest of the day, and everyone gave her lots of compliments.

When she got home from school, she told Momma and Papa Gray about how everyone loved her rainbow hair and how they all called her Rainbow Rita now.  “I know that I’m not like everyone else, but I feel extra special! Everyone loves me even more now that they’ve seen my hair,” she told them.

 At first, Momma and Papa Gray weren’t happy that Rita didn’t want to wear the hats anymore. They were afraid that someone would be mean to her because she was different.

But in the end, they realized that they loved their daughter for who she was. It was silly of them to ask her to hide such a beautiful part of herself.

Momma and Papa Gray told Rainbow Rita that they were sorry. “It was wrong for us to try to hide how special you are, Rita,” said Momma Gray.
“We were just trying to protect you because sometimes other people are afraid when they see people who are different from them. Sometimes it makes them mad,” Papa Gray explained.

“Why would people be afraid of me? That’s silly!” said Rita.
“It’s very silly,” Momma Gray agreed. “But people can be silly sometimes.”
“We’re sorry for being so silly, Rita,” said Papa Gray. “We want you to know that we love you, and you never have to worry about hiding who you are ever again.”

Momma and Papa Gray gave Rainbow Rita a great big hug.

Then, they threw all of Rita’s old hats in the trash together so that she never had to wear them again.

Rita felt much happier now that she didn’t have to cover up her rainbow hair. Everyone she met wanted to be her friend. 

Momma and Papa Gray were very proud to have Rainbow Rita as their daughter. They decided to take a lesson from Rita and let more of their true colors shine through, too.

And together they all lived happily ever after.

20 October 2013

Lessons in Self-Preservation

I am proud to confess to you that I am a murderer. Please believe me when I say that we'd all be better off if we did a little killing every once in awhile.

This morning I looked in the mirror and saw that my eyes looked more tired than usual. And that's when the voices started up—sad, mean, angry, desperate voices—familiar voices. These voices have been with me since I can remember. When I was learning to walk, they were there, telling me I wasn't strong enough to stand on my own two feet. They've kept me from sleeping—incessantly whispering in my ears that failure is inevitable. They've kept me from eating—pinching the fat on my side and tsk-tsking when I've thought of ordering pizza. They've kept me from loving—shouting so loudly that I could never hear my sweetheart's soft words over those goddamn voices' unkind cries.

But it was not until today that I actually crawled inside myself and found a horde of sick, sick people living inside me. I came face-to-face with a girl with eyes the color of three-day-old bruises and hair the color of thick scabs, and it was when I noticed the scars on her wrists that I recognized her. She was the part of myself who was always trying to disassemble Venus razors and take them to my wrists at the slightest sign of emotional turmoil. She was the one who, when I was sad and she without a blade, would dig her fingernails into my flesh until blood was drawn. She was the one who stashed a bottle of sleeping pills in the drawer by my bed and whispered as I sobbed, "Just finish the whole bottle, darling. And maybe you'll wake up tomorrow and feel better, or maybe you won't wake up at all! And wouldn't that be marvelous if you didn't wake up at all?"

"There is no reason to be afraid to die" were her last words before I forced handfuls of pills down her throat. I handed her a bottle of merlot and watched her drain it. I was only slightly surprised that she did not struggle when I took each of her wrists in my hands and cut her from palm to elbow. Her blood poured from her body like wine from a broken bottle, and I felt an intoxicating surge of strength at the sight of it.

After that it was easy. I forced fountain pens through the eyes of the cantankerous old man who was constantly convincing me that my words weren't worth reading and reduced him to a wrinkly twitch before bashing his skull in with a dictionary.

After snapping her twig bones, I reached right into the ribcage of the waif who'd been bent on starving me skinny since I can remember. I devoured her plump heart before her eyes and did not worry about the calories.

And then, without batting an eye, I took a blowtorch to her sister's face, that bitch who never let me leave the house without makeup on.

Using the muscle in my thighs, I strangled the broad-shouldered man who'd made me believe I was never strong enough.

And then the thin man who'd called me a slut night after night screamed, "But I'm a nice guy!" before I castrated him and watched him writhe before he bled out.

I slaughtered every part of myself who'd ever caused me to start a sentence with "I can't." I tore limb from limb every person inside me who'd ever made me feel small. And when all of the corpses of the voices who had made it impossible to love myself were finally in a pile, I felt better than I had in my entire life.

I painted my lips and cheeks and eyelids with the blood of the dead parts of myself, and when I caught my reflection in the crimson pool at my feet, I found myself so fiercely beautiful that I never wanted to look away. As I stared into the scarlet, I realized that I had created for myself an endless supply of ink. Now I'm free to create a million works of art, but first, I want all of you to be free, too.

You are all you will ever certainly have, and it is essential to love yourself. Self-hatred is a crime punishable by death—either your death or the death of all those voices in your head insisting that you're unlovable. Never in my life have I condoned violence, but after today, I say if there is a part of you that makes you hurt so much that sometimes you question whether life is worth living, if there is a part of you that paralyzes you, prevents you from filling your life with meaning, he or she must be sacrificed. Take a machete to your meanest parts. Poison the pieces of you who hold you back. Turn their blood into poetry. You owe it to yourself. You'll feel better, I promise.