Author: JennyTrout

 

Yeah, that’s brown herringbone tweed. My love is eternal.

Merlin club is a weekly feature in which Jessica Jarman, Bronwyn Green, and myself gather at 8pm EST to watch an episode of the amazing BBC series Merlin, starring Colin Morgan and literally nobody else I care about except Colin Morgan.

Okay, I lie. A lot of other really cool people are in it, too.

Anyway, we watch the show, we tweet to the hashtag #MerlinClub, and on Fridays we share our thoughts about the episode we watched earlier in the week.

So, here’s a quick rundown of episode eleven: Arthur kills a unicorn and everything in Camelot goes all to hell.

I’m leaving it at that, because that is really the entire plot of the episode.

If I had written this episode, I would have changed: From the moment Athur kills the unicorn, people are saying, “Historically, there are consequences to killing a mythological creature like a unicorn.” Then when weird shit starts happening (grain being spoiled, water turning to sand), Arthur and Uther are still like, “No, I think we’re being too hasty jumping on this unicorn thing. Let’s explore some other options. Like sorcery.” But dude, wouldn’t unicorns fall under the sorcery umbrella? I would have had them realize the link way earlier. Way, way earlier. Then I would have shown Arthur’s successes and failures at the tests affecting Camelot in positive and negative ways. Basically, I would have spread the tests out more and made them the center of the episode, rather than bringing them in during the second half.

The thing I loved most about this episode: There’s a fucking unicorn in it.

The thing I hated most about this episode: Besides the unicorn blindness that made Uther and Arthur lose their common sense? I hated the amount of comedic relief that was taken over hunger and lack of clean water. From a storytelling standpoint, it removes some of the urgency and forward momentum if you’re downplaying your main conflict for funny shots of characters eating bugs.

Something I never noticed before: The unicorn is alive again at the end of the episode. I don’t remember that happening at all before. Or maybe I thought I was confusing Merlin with Legend and mentally corrected something that wasn’t wrong in the first place.

Favorite Costume: The Unicorn dude’s bitchin’ druid robes:

Here is proof of some random headcanon I created: None this time around. I would say it’s a welcome change, but it’s just laying low until next week.

What object would Bronwyn steal from this episode? The unicorn’s horn. And she would give it to me, because I could put it in my unicorn collection. UNICORN!

What Merthur moment did Jess have the naughtiest thoughts about? I assume that in Jess’s mind, the scene where Arthur makes Merlin try the rat dinner ended much differently. Probably with a spanking.

Check out Jessica Jarman’s take on the episode here

Check out Bronwyn Green’s take on the episode here

Or check out The Merlin Club drinking game, which, you know. I’m sober, so I can’t endorse it. But it’s still funny. Also, there’s a banner that shows you what I’m like when I’m not sober, which I never will be again, so enjoy the snapshot of an era gone by.

That’s it for this week. Join us on Monday as we watch S01E12, “To Kill The King” at 8pm EST on the hashtag #MerlinClub.

In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will panic that her taxes aren’t filed, before realizing that it’s not April yet. She will also recap every episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer with an eye to the following themes:

1. Sex is the real villain of the Buffy The Vampire Slayer universe.
2. Giles is totally in love with Buffy.
3. Joyce is a fucking terrible parent.
4. Willow’s magic is utterly useless (this one won’t be an issue until season 2, when she gets a chance to become a witch)
5. Xander is a textbook Nice Guy.
6. The show isn’t as feminist as people claim.
7. All the monsters look like wieners.
8. If ambivalence to possible danger were an Olympic sport, Team Sunnydale would take the gold.
9. Angel is a dick.
10. Harmony is the strongest female character on the show.
11. Team sports are portrayed in an extremely negative light.
12. Some of this shit is racist as fuck.
13. Science and technology are not to be trusted.
14. Mental illness is stigmatized.
15. Only Willow can use a computer.
16. Buffy’s strength is flexible at the plot’s convenience.
17. Cheap laughs and desperate grabs at plot plausibility are made through Xenophobia.
18. Oz is the Anti-Xander

Have I missed any that were added in past recaps? Let me know in the comments.  Even though I might forget that you mentioned it.

WARNING: Some people have mentioned they’re watching along with me, and that’s awesome, but I’ve seen the entire series already and I’ll probably mention things that happen in later seasons. So… you know, take that under consideration, if you’re a person who can’t enjoy something if you know future details about it. 

I recognize the danger I’m taking in posting a serious account of a mental illness breakthrough on April Fools Day, but you can’t control when this stuff happens for you. So, there’s no punchline, this is just all good news.

There’s a line in the song “Let It Go,” from Frozen where Elsa says, “It’s funny how some distance/makes everything seem small/and the fears that once controlled me/can’t get to me at all.”

That’s pretty inspirational. But what the song doesn’t tell you is that it’s a lot of work to get to that line.

In 2009, I was about to have a second series published with Mira, and it was a series I was so incredibly passionate about. I loved it with all my heart, and I was so sure readers would love it as much.

For the most part, they did not.

I was crushed. I was also at the start of the five hellish years that span this story. I lost my house– the house I grew up in–, struggled with IRS problems that I’m still paying off until I’m forty, had surgery to remove a huge tumor from my spine, got Fibromyalgia which led to a pill addiction, developed epilepsy and became an alcoholic. It was not the best time of my life.

A brain affected by mental illness can really mess up a person’s life by creating parallels and patterns where there are none. And to my mind– which was mentally ill before all the stress and the raging substance addictions I had at that point– I decided that I knew what was up: the universe had handed someone else’s success to me, and now that it knew what a fuck up and fraud I was and always would be, it had directed that success to the right address and I would go on being the same failure I had always been.

Obviously, the answer was to kill myself.

I was already seriously mentally and physically ill. I was in pain all the time, walking with a cane when I could walk at all, living in a constant daze of pills and booze, missing my daughter’s first year, and watching my career, the thing that gave me the only sense of self worth I’d ever allowed myself to have, slowly spiral away. To my mind, it all made perfect sense. But then a family member committed suicide, and I realized that I was’t ready to do it yet. It would hurt people that I cared about. I decided that I was definitely going to kill myself, but that my reluctance to do it right at that moment was a sign that I shouldn’t do it yet.

Obsessive compulsive disorder has long caused me to look for “signs.” I wanted desperately to see a pattern in things, I wanted a clear signal that it was the right time to commit suicide. I began to set benchmarks for what would be my sign, or at least the thing that proved to me that I was worthless, that I was a fraud, and above all, that I had been given something I had not earned, because it had belonged to someone else the whole time.

I attended the Authors After Dark conference in Philadelphia, and at the book signing, a very earnest, very enthusiastic young woman came up to me and started going on and on about how great my books were and how the writing was so amazing and the characters, etc. until I realized that the book she was holding in her hands wasn’t my book. And as this person continued to talk,  it became clear that she had the wrong author. All the writers around me looked at me with such open second-hand embarrassment, I had to get up and leave. And I thought, “Okay, there’s a sign.” But it wasn’t the sign. So I put it in my back pocket and kept waiting. These instances kept coming, and began to form the foundation for my paranoid delusion that I had somehow taken something that didn’t belong to me. I interpreted each of these misunderstandings as a sign. But I still wasn’t ready.

By this time, Harlequin was no longer interested in seeing manuscripts from me. I’d written a critically well-received book that showed absolutely no hope of earning out the advance they’d been paid for it. My last editor had passed on a proposal days before I learned he was leaving the company, not through a phone call or an email to me or to my agent, but through another author’s tweet. I had written erotic romance for a small press, but it didn’t pay the bills. I worked as an editor, making twenty-five dollars a manuscript. Twenty-five dollars for manuscripts in excess of 50,000 words, while I was on food stamps and my husband had to return to the job he’d left in order to go to college. I had to go back to work at the McDonald’s I’d worked at when I was twenty. College was gone for him. Writing was gone for me. I was utterly humiliated, and I convinced myself that I’d proved everyone in my life right. Oh, because everybody in my life secretly thought I was a worthless fuck up, even though they’d never said or done anything to indicate that’s how they felt. I forgot that part.

Obviously, things started getting better for me and my family the very second I said, “Fuck this” and started writing about 50 Shades of Grey. At that point, I was like, “You know what? My career is over, I’ve been planning to kill myself for three years, anyway, so what’s going to happen? What can the publishing world possibly do to me? Spank me? They don’t even know I’m out here. Fuck this.” And everyone was being so nice and so sweet and people were saying I was cool and they were going to buy my books, and I started writing this thing called The Boss and people were liking it.

Things should have been looking up, right? I didn’t need to kill myself anymore?

Wrong. My diseased brain had been so focused on that one goal, that it was too late. I knew I was going to kill myself eventually, and that made me angry. I didn’t even want to kill myself. Things were going good, and I loved my therapist and I felt like maybe I was getting free from all the misery that my OCD and depression had latched onto. But I knew it was going to happen. I was going to commit suicide, even though I didn’t want to. It was just a matter of time.

One afternoon I got on twitter, and saw something that made me go, “This is it.” I don’t know how I decided that this was the moment, but  I went upstairs, my whole body shaking, and with complete calm told my husband that I had the final sign, and it was time to kill myself.

This came as a shock to him, as you might imagine, because I’d never told him about my suicide plan– “conceal/don’t feel,” as the song goes. He knew I was depressed, and I was projecting my mental health issues onto a person and a situation that had nothing to do with me. But he’d never realized how deeply ill I was. He made a frantic call to Bronwyn Green, who was on vacation with her family at the time, and they discussed whether or not I should be hospitalized. Between the two of them, they talked me down, and got me to see some reason until I could make an emergency visit to my therapist.

That day was the ultimate low. And out there were people I had never even met and things I couldn’t control, and I had elected them as the deciding factor in whether or not I lived or died.

How fucking unfair was that? My natural inclination is to say, “Jenny, you’re a terrible person.” But I have to accept the fact that I am mentally ill, and sometimes, I latch on to freaky, untrue shit, and it’s out of my control or anyone else’s control. Still, I’m responsible for that, and if I believed in karma, I would think, “Wow, I’m in a lot of trouble right now.”

Obviously, I didn’t kill myself. I walked away from that low point and I didn’t look back. For a while, I caught myself having the occasional weird thought, but I’d nip it in the bud. And I started looking for signs again, but not “suicide, next exit” signs. I began to look for actual, measurable progress in my mental health. Like feeling good about myself, and liking what I had written. Like standing up for myself in my career, and not pretending I needed to scrounge for crumbs because I failed to meet the high expectations set at the beginning of my career. And I have to get this out here, but really? Really, Harlequin? You gave an author with one series under her belt and already declining sales a four book contract for fifty-thousand dollars per title? I’m sorry, but I am not the biggest fuck up in this scenario.

So, why am I writing all of this now? Because last night, I got the biggest, most important sign of my recovery, and gave the biggest fuck you in the history of fuck you’s to my jacked up mental health. I can’t share what this was; it wouldn’t be fair to out the name of an innocent bystander who was unknowingly involved in my suicide plan, and it’s impossible to tell that particular story without being specific. But it feels like, at least for a moment, my mind is clear and I can live with a whole, open heart and concentrate on doing what I love without needing it to murder me.

I was scared to write this post. It makes me sound like a legit crazy person. Because I am. I am super duper full time wacky pants. And I always will be; there’s no cure for mental illness. But the good news is, it’s getting better. I really am able to “Let It Go,” and not try to force myself to feel negative or positive emotions I think I should be feeling. I’m not going to try and show people the emotions I think they want to see, in order to protect them from the truth of my nuttiness. I’m going to be in charge of, and even like, myself. I’m not going to throw the weight of my suicidal thoughts onto someone else, someone I’ve never even met, and make them symbolically responsible for my life, so that I don’t have to face up to my real problems. And I’m going to forgive myself for being my own worst enemy. And I am not going to kill myself.

Tonight, I feel healthier and happier than I have in a very long time. The next time I latch on to some obsessive quest to justify why I should literally destroy myself, I’m going to remember to “Let It Go.” Because it’s way easier than carrying it around for five years.

Merlin club is a weekly feature in which Jessica Jarman, Bronwyn Green, and myself gather at 8pm EST to watch an episode of the amazing BBC series Merlin, starring Colin Morgan and literally nobody else I care about except Colin Morgan.

Okay, I lie. A lot of other really cool people are in it, too.

Anyway, we watch the show, we tweet to the hashtag #MerlinClub, and on Fridays we share our thoughts about the episode we watched earlier in the week.

THE BRIDE is available now! FINALLY!

After a tumultuous year, Sophie Scaife’s relationship with her boyfriend and Dom, billionaire media mogul Neil Elwood, is hotter and happier than ever. His sizzling Dominant side pushes Sophie to new and challenging heights of submission and erotic exploration as she follows her Sir’s every whim. But with his daughter’s impending wedding and a milestone birthday turning Neil’s thoughts toward settling down, Sophie faces a much different future than she’d planned.

 Caught in a conflict between her new wealth and her desire for independence, Sophie fears she’s becoming just another Fifth Avenue trophy wife. With her fashion journalism career over and her new effort as a writer uninspiring, Sophie has to work harder than ever to prove her intentions to Neil’s family and friends.

 Sophie isn’t the only one struggling to adapt to her new lifestyle. When private jets and designer labels threaten her bond with Holli, Sophie finds herself walking a fine line between the world she now inhabits and the past—and people—she fears she’s left behind. After a shocking revelation divides her loyalties, Sophie is in danger of losing her best friend or fracturing the trust of the man she loves.

Amazon • Smashwords

For those of you who prefer to buy your e-books directly from Barnes & Noble, Sony, iTunes, or other retailers, it can take up to two weeks for a title to release in those outlets. In the meantime, however, you can find every format you might need at Smashwords.com.

The success of The Boss and The Girlfriend depended entirely on word-of-mouth, and The Bride is no different. Tweets, Facebook posts, and GoodReads and BookLikes ads are always appreciated.

As always, thanks everybody who reads this series, and thanks to everyone who doesn’t read this series but who are patient with me when I’m trying to make a deadline.

Now I’m going to go collapse in a heap before I get back to my regularly scheduled, non-release month life!

Merlin club is a weekly feature in which Jessica Jarman, Bronwyn Green, and myself gather at 8pm EST to watch an episode of the amazing BBC series Merlin, starring Colin Morgan and literally nobody else I care about except Colin Morgan.

Okay, I lie. A lot of other really cool people are in it, too.

Anyway, we watch the show, we tweet to the hashtag #MerlinClub, and on Fridays we share our thoughts about the episode we watched earlier in the week.

One has to wonder why author Jennifer Weiner thought she was in a unique position to start a conversation about diversity in YA by creating the #ColorMyShelf hashtag on Twitter.

Natasha Carty, owner of the book blog Wicked Little Pixie, wondered: “Why is it a white author starting this hashtag? […] We need to talk about the issue, we truly we do, but some will always raise an eyebrow that it’s always the white author starting these types of conversations.”

If this sounds unjustifiably cynical, consider the direction the conversation took when one Twitter user told Weiner that racism, rather than profit, drives the decisions of our predominately white publishing culture:

Is the publishing industry missing out on cash that could be earned by embracing diversity in their authors, offices, and readership? Of course they are. But Weiner’s inability to grasp anything but the bottom line underscores a commonly held position in the publishing world: that cultural diversity in fiction is only attractive if it is profitable and comfortable for white people.

The first title mentioned in #ColorMyShelf was  Kathryn Stockett’s The Help, a novel in which a white protagonist gives voice to the oppression of black housekeepers. Asks Carty, “Who thought that The Help was a great book about people of color?”

It is unsurprising that it was a white woman making that particular recommendation. A book like The Help becomes a blockbuster because we white people care deeply about racism and social justice when we can be the heroes. We like to be reassured that we’re “not all bad” and that on a personal level, we couldn’t possibly be racist. We feel pity, rather than empathy, for the women of color on the page, and take pride in knowing that in this literary narrative, only we can heal racism through the power of our whiteness.

One can only assume it was this well-meaning sentiment– giving a voice to those who are underrepresented– that drove Weiner to start the tag in the first place. But as several twitter users pointed out, the conversation about the lack of diversity in fiction isn’t new. Weiner’s own crusade began after reading an opinion piece in the New York Times, “The Apartheid of Children’s Literature,” by author Christopher Myers. She took to Twitter to express her dismay:

She bemoaned the difficulty she had trying to find non-white characters in her daughter’s reading material, and suggested a way to fix the problem:

 

But the issue at hand isn’t whether or not Weiner and other white mothers can find books to “color” their children’s shelves, nor was that the point of Myer’s article. Children of color deserve books that satisfy their need for representation, regardless of white interest and spending power; that Weiner wishes  to purchase those same books for her daughter is and should remain a secondary effect.

Also troubling was the fact that  many of the initial replies came from white women eager to boast the titles of the racially diverse books they’d given their children. As Carty states, “While the sentiment was probably in the right place, the amount of racism in the replies is disturbing.”

Considering the number of existing lists found by a simple Google search (including Melinda Lo’s “Diversity in YALSA’s Best Fiction for Young Adults“), it’s no wonder that Weiner’s leap from opinion piece to enlightenment was considered by some to be the actions of an “ally” using her platform to solicit education from the very people she believed she was helping. Rather than asking her followers to consider the predicament of non-white and interracial families trying to find fiction for their children, Weiner created a conversation directed by white need. How could we, as white readers, “color” our shelves?

That isn’t to say that valuable discussion didn’t come from Weiner’s hashtag, or that the venue was devoid of participation from authors, readers, and bloggers of color. Still, it was Weiner who created the hashtag and who began the conversation by suggesting that publishers should deliver more characters of color that white parents can feel good about and spend money on.

As white authors, bloggers, and readers, we must stop promoting diversity as a business opportunity or a chance to buy ally points with our disposable income. By perpetuating the white supremacist belief that all media must be created for white consumption and profit, we are erasing people of color from our literary legacy, no matter how good our intentions. Every child deserves to see themselves in stories they can enjoy, but it isn’t the place of white people to decide how and why those stories are created and marketed. If we truly seek diversity in fiction, we have to let the needs of others come before our need to define ourselves as social justice allies.

[In the interest of protecting twitter users from harassment, Weiner’s tweets have been photoshopped to remove user names.]

The wait for The Bride is almost over!  The manuscript has just another minor hoop to jump through. I know a lot of you are waiting to get this book, and I love your enthusiasm and your patience!

I’m finally able to share with you the blurb or back cover copy for The Bride, and a sneak peek after the jump!

After a tumultuous year, Sophie Scaife’s relationship with her boyfriend and Dom, billionaire media mogul Neil Elwood, is hotter and happier than ever. His sizzling Dominant side pushes Sophie to new and challenging heights of submission and erotic exploration as she follows her Sir’s every whim. But with his daughter’s impending wedding and a milestone birthday turning Neil’s thoughts toward settling down, Sophie faces a much different future than she’d planned.

 Caught in a conflict between her new wealth and her desire for independence, Sophie fears she’s becoming just another Fifth Avenue trophy wife. With her fashion journalism career over and her new effort as a writer uninspiring, Sophie has to work harder than ever to prove her intentions to Neil’s family and friends.

 Sophie isn’t the only one struggling to adapt to her new lifestyle. When private jets and designer labels threaten her bond with Holli, Sophie finds herself walking a fine line between the world she now inhabits and the past—and people—she fears she’s left behind. After a shocking revelation divides her loyalties, Sophie is in danger of losing her best friend or fracturing the trust of the man she loves.

Read on after the jump for a sneak peek of The Bride.