Showing posts with label Emma Tofi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emma Tofi. Show all posts

Saturday, 19 December 2015

What a novel blog post...


I would apologise for the title of this post, except... I'm not sorry; we all know I can't resist a pun.

Anyway, this post is essentially something of a celebration.  To explain what we're celebrating, I'll tell you a story...

Back in 2012, I was recovering from an abusive relationship that had threatened to completely destroy my life.  I'd been in a really bad place in the first few months since leaving, but, as 2011 gave way to 2012, I was starting to turn a corner.  I began to have counselling and my counsellor eventually suggested I contacted a charity called Women's Rape And Sexual Abuse Centre (or WRSAC for short).  I was massively hesitant about calling them.  I hadn't ever been raped and I felt like a fraud; I was still in a place where I didn't fully believe that what had happened to me had even been abuse.  But I called them.  And making that call changed - possibly even saved - my life.

Unfortunately, it was also during that time that lots of people I knew started banging on about a book called Fifty Shades of Grey.  They kept saying how "hot" it was.  How "romantic" they found it.  How every woman should have a man like Christian Grey in their life, if only they could be so "lucky."

I told my mum that I was going to have to read this fantastic book and bless her heart, she came back from a trip to the supermarket with a copy for me.  To this day, I feel a sense of genuine guilt that the book was a present from the person I love most in the world, because reading it... Well, reading it was akin to being smacked over the head with the relationship I was literally just beginning to get over.

It felt like I was being told I should be grateful to have been with someone so wonderful.  It felt like I was being told that I just wasn't perfect enough to "cure" my abuser with my amazing love, the way that we're supposed to believe that Ana cures Christian (which is bullshit on so many levels).  It was as though EL James had taken my experiences of abuse and rewritten them as a love story.  I felt sick.  And EL's silencing of abuse survivors and charities who tried voicing their concerns - not to mention the nastiness doled out from legions of Fifty Shades fans to anyone who dared to criticise the trilogy (and yes, I've read all three books) - only worsened that sick sensation in my belly.

And yep, I got my "angry writer" hat on and wrote to the press about it.

Then, one Summer evening, as I sat with my new support worker from WRSAC, I found myself blurting out: "Someone should write a book that tells the truth about men like Grey.  A book about a girl who meets this sexy, passionate guy with a dark, tragic past, but instead of romanticising abuse and making it sound as though you can "cure" it with love, the story should actually show emotional and psychological abuse for what it is."  And then, given how I was already making big, blurted statements, I made another: "Do you know what?  I'm going to bloody do it myself."

That's how Cracked Mirrors And Torn Reflections was born.  And it's why the very top person in the list of individual dedications at the start, is Chloe from WRSAC - my support worker.  The first person I ever told about this book, before I had even started writing it.

It took me well over a year to write the story.  Partly because I'm so used to writing children's fiction and partly because I was trying to juggle a day job, as well as other writing at the same time.  But mainly because the story is semi (and I emphasise that word) autobiographical.  Some of the cruel jibes Richard North (the Christian Grey of this tale) makes are words I've had spat at me from the person I loved.  Some of the situations are ones I found myself living in.  All of the pain that Jenna - my lead character - experiences is pain I went through myself.

Even the title comes from personal experience.  When I went to see my GP to ask for counselling - four months after I left my ex - I caught sight of myself in a mirror on his desk and I didn't recognise the reflection.  I thought of those funfair mirrors, where everything is distorted and you don't look like yourself.  Then, because I was in such emotional pain, I thought "no, those mirrors are fun.  This is more like when a mirror is cracked and your reflection is bent out of shape."

I revisited that experience not only to gain the title for this novel, but to try to explain the trauma that Jenna is going through, when she seeks help.  Towards the end of the novel, she explains to her own support worker:

“When I went to the doctors, I saw my reflection in a mirror and I looked so different.  It felt like I wasn’t looking at myself.  It was like... You know when you look into a mirror that has a crack in it and your reflection is distorted?  It was like that, only the mirror was fine.  It was me that was broken.”

- Cracked Mirrors And Torn Reflections, chapter 33

The subject matter is such that it's unlikely this book will ever be "beach-reading."  It's not always an easy read, but it's an important one.  And, I hope, a powerful and moving one.  If reading this book makes one person realise that abuse doesn't have to just mean hitting, or raping a person, then it's done its job.  

Yes, there are sex scenes.  Because abusers are charming, clever, passionate.  They don't waltz into rooms like pantomime baddies, accompanied by a thunder clap and eerie, dramatic laughter.  They could be the most gorgeous person you've ever laid eyes on.  They could be the funniest person you've ever met.  They could be the best sex you've ever had.  It's important to write that into a story 
like this, because too many people are convinced that they'd spot abuse in reality, when the truth is, even when you're going through it, you don't necessarily recognise it for what it is.  I didn't.

So, yes, this is a big leap from anything I've written, previously.  And no, this isn't a story to share with your little ones before bed (seriously, don't do that).  But it's an important book and it's one I hope you do share with your friends and loved ones.  Because when we educate ourselves on what abuse really is, we hopefully protect ourselves from it that little bit more.  And that can only be a good thing.

Once the story was written, I spent a long, long time editing it.  It was massively important to me to get it right.  Eventually, after two years of cutting bits, adding bits and deleting words here and there, I came to realise that I could carry on editing forever and never think it was perfect.  So, after one last edit, I decided it was what it needed to be: Real.

It's not my story.  It's heavily influenced, obviously, but I didn't want to just write an exact account of what had happened to me.  Instead, this book is half-autobiographical and half-fantasy.  I think it works better that way.  

I said at the start of this that this blog post is something of a celebration and I meant it.  We're celebrating the completion and publication of my first adult novel.  But much more importantly, we're celebrating the fact that I was free to write it in the first place.  

There are no "cracked mirrors" in my life, anymore.  When I look in the mirror these days, the woman staring back at me is one I recognise and am proud of.  

And I'm proud of the book she's written, too.






Tuesday, 27 October 2015

Self-Publishing: The Truth Behind The Gloss

I wrote a children's book.  You can buy it here.


I just typed "self-publishing success stories" into Google.  There were over four and a half million results.

Every now and then, we hear about a writer who was rejected time and again by traditional publishers, only to self-publish and become a phenomenal success.  Even bad writers have made squillions out of self-publishing (I'm mentioning no names here, but we all know who I mean, right?  Right.).

The saying goes that everyone has a book in them.  Hopefully not literally, as that sounds frankly uncomfortable...  But if we're all aspiring writers, then how can we hope to be that one, shining example of someone who's made a fortune out of self-publishing, when we're merely one author in a sea of billions?

My new ebook received its first star-rating on Amazon, very recently.  It got five out of five.  I was so thrilled, I did a victory dance.  It was every bit as epic as you imagine it to be.


The dream is to be doing well enough with my writing that I can give up the day job and spend days, tapping away at my keyboard until the tips of my fingers are worn.  That might sound hellish to some, but to me, it sounds divine.

The truth of the situation is that my sales figures aren't going to have Michael Morpurgo crying into his coffee any time soon.  Even with three traditionally-published children's books under my belt, I'm an unknown.  I'm dipping my toes into self-publishing, completely aware that the next big success story may never be me.  

But that's not going to stop me from trying.  The sheer number of book-reviewers I've had tell me they "don't do self-published books" today isn't going to stop me trying.  The number of media outlets I've contacted, begging for an interview or a short promotional piece, who've completely and utterly ignored me, isn't going to stop me trying.

That's the thing about doing it yourself.  The clue is in the word "yourself."

Once I receive a print-on-demand copy of my book, I'll see if any local schools want me to do a reading, or even a writing workshop.  I'll keep badgering reviewers, to see if anyone wants a PDF of my book, so they can read and review it.  I'll keep shamelessly self-promoting Seven Days With The Cherry Tree Gang over on Twitter and Facebook.

But most importantly of all, I'll keep writing.  Because the more titles you have, the more of a recognised author you become.  The more ebooks are up on Amazon, the more likelihood you have of earning royalties from sales.

My book hasn't surged into the bestsellers lists.  It hasn't already sold thousands of copies.  It's not made me a household name.  But it's out there, because I put it there and I'll put more out there until there's literally just tiny stubs where my fingers used to be.  Then I'll dictate books to some poor soul, so I can still put more stuff out there.

I'm a dreamer of improbable dreams, sure.  But sometimes, dreams come true.




Sunday, 4 October 2015

Introducing... The Cherry Tree Gang!


Exciting news, everyone!

For the past few months, I've been working on a brand new series of children's stories, called Seven Days With The Cherry Tree Gang.  The series follows a week in the lives of four new characters: Jack and his younger brother Henry, plus their friends Milly and Flo.

From Monday to Sunday, we'll follow the four friends as they turn every day into an adventure.  From turning detectives in order to solve a mystery, to meeting a famous popstar, life is never dull when The Cherry Tree Gang are around!

I'm thrilled to say that Seven Days With The Cherry Tree Gang is now almost complete and ready to be released for Amazon Kindle.  There are just a few little bows to tie up neatly, before I unleash it on the world!  If you're already itching to get your hands on a copy, keep checking back, because this is where you'll hear first - the very second the book is ready for download, I'll be posting another special update right here, so keep those eyes peeled...

As you know, writing is more than just a hobby for me.  It's an absolute passion and I can't wait to share the fruits of this most recent labour with all of you.

Don't worry, I'll still be writing my weekly free bedtime stories for the time being and I'll be keeping this blog updated with my regular rants and reviews, too, but I can't wait for you all to meet Jack, Henry, Milly and Flo and I hope you and your little ones will love them just as much as I do!

Thanks to everyone who reads this blog for their continuing support.  I would never have found the confidence to put this book together and go down the self-publishing route if it wasn't for you lovely lot!

So, if you're a fan of my weekly bedtime stories, keep your ear to the ground.  The Cherry Tree Gang will be here very soon!!

xx

Wednesday, 13 May 2015

Bedtime Story (13/5/2015)

EXCITING NEWS!

This week's bedtime story is extra special, because for one week only, it features the awesome artistic skills of the very talented Emily Clark!  Having pictures to go along with my words has been a wonderful experience - one I've not had since my ABC Animals books (Alana The Angry Alligator, Bertie Bullfrog And The Bullies and Charlie The Cheating Cheetah) came out, back in 2011.  So to see an artist's impression of my stories again is a real treat.  If there are any budding illustrators reading this, I'd really love to hear from you; regular pictures would be a wonderful addition to the weekly "Bedtime Story" feature and who knows where we'll take it from here...  So please do get in touch if you'd like to illustrate a story, even if only as a one-off.  In the meantime, a HUGE thank you to Emily, for this week's beautiful pictures!

Now, without further ado, let's get onto the story...

Barry Doesn't Want To Play



The sun was rising and all the jungle animals were getting ready for the day.  But over on his favourite tree branch, Barry the monkey lay perfectly still. 


“Look at Barry,” Peter parrot squawked.  “He’s not even up, yet!”  He flew over to the branch, with a banana in his beak.  “I’ve brought you some breakfast,” he said.  But Barry turned his head sadly and said nothing.  Peter looked down at the other jungle animals on the ground.  “Barry doesn’t want to play,” he called. 

“Let’s cheer him up,” cried Seth the snake.  He slithered up the tree trunk and sang a song to Barry, but Barry sighed and closed his eyes.  Seth frowned and glanced down at the animals gathered at the bottom of the tree.  “Peter brought him breakfast and I’ve sung him a song, but Barry doesn’t want to play.”


Leonard the lion cocked his head to one side.  “What if we play a game?  How about hide and seek?”  He sat down and put his front paws over his eyes.  “I’ll count to ten, Barry.  You go and hide!”  Leonard counted to ten, but when he uncovered his eyes again, Barry was exactly where he’d always been.  Leonard shook his head at the other animals.  “Peter brought him breakfast, Seth sang him a song and I’ve tried to play a game, but Barry doesn’t want to play!”

Gordon the gorilla beat his chest and grinned.  “I’ll tickle him,” he said, as he climbed the tree.  He tickled Barry’s ribs, but Barry didn’t even raise a smile.  Gordon sighed.  “It’s no good,” he announced.  “Peter brought him breakfast, Seth sang him a song, Leonard tried to play a game and I’ve tickled him, but Barry doesn’t want to play.”


“Perhaps he’s thirsty?”  Jim the frog asked.  He filled up an empty melon skin with water and carefully carried it up the tree to Barry.  But Barry shook his head at the drink and let out a long sigh.  Jim shrugged.  “Peter brought him breakfast, Seth sang him a song, Leonard tried to play a game, Gordon tickled him and I’ve brought him a drink, but Barry doesn’t want to play.”

The animals began to move away from the tree, when suddenly, a small voice called to them from the bushes.  “Excuse me!”  A little mouse appeared, nodding her head at the tree.  “I couldn’t help but notice... Peter brought him breakfast, Seth sang him a song, Leonard tried to play a game, Gordon tickled him and Jim brought him a drink, but... Has anyone tried asking Barry what’s wrong?”

The little mouse scampered up the tree trunk and ran along the branch.  She sat beside Barry’s sad face and smiled, kindly.  “Why don’t you want to play?”


Barry sighed.  “I do.  But in the night, whilst I was sleeping, I caught my foot on this branch and got a splinter.”  He pointed down to a small piece of tree bark, stuck in his foot.  “I couldn’t get it out, so...”  Barry’s voice trailed off. 

The mouse stared down at the animals at the bottom of the tree.  “You see?  It’s not that he doesn’t want to play!”  She scurried along the branch and very carefully pulled on the tree bark, gently removing it from Barry’s foot.  “There you are!  It’s gone, now.”

Barry beamed as he sat up on the branch.  “That feels so much better,” he said.  “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” the mouse replied.  Then, she hurried back down the tree to where all of Barry’s friends were waiting.  She glanced at each one of them in turn.  “You know,” she explained.  “There’s usually a reason for the way our friends behave.  It never hurts to ask them how they feel!”

Barry swung his legs over the branch.  “I feel brilliant, now,” he announced.

The animals gathered at the bottom of the tree all smiled as Barry came down to greet them all, properly.  “So,” Gordon Gorilla began.  “Do you want to play?”

Barry grinned and nodded his head.  “Of course I do!”

And as the sun shone brightly in the sky, the friends hurried off together; their laughter ringing through the jungle.

THE END





Wednesday, 25 March 2015

Wednesday is "Bedtime Story Day!"

CALLING ALL PARENTS!

I've had an idea.  Dangerous, I know... ;-)

Some regular readers to this blog will know that I'm a published children's author.  Writing - in any form - is a passion for me, but writing stories for children is a special love of mine.  Becoming a published children's author was, for a long time, my absolute dream - something I had worked on, albeit unsuccessfully, for many years.  Three of my books are now out there and that's great.  But I have a head full of stories.  So, how could I get those other stories out there into the world, quickly and easily?  The answer seemed pretty obvious...

My first ever book launch.

Starting today, every Wednesday is going to be "Bedtime Story Day."  

I'll be publishing a brand new children's story every Wednesday evening at 6pm.  All of these stories are completely original and unconnected to my previous book series.  They're aimed at children aged between 4 and 7 years old.  Now, I'm no artist, so there won't be pictures, but... I can remember my mum reading my chapters from books without pictures (or featuring very few) every night before bed, when I was maybe six years old, so I'm hoping that the lack of pictures won't be a problem.  That's what our imaginations are for, after all!  

What I'd love is for this idea to really take off and if it does, then I'll think about upping the frequency of the "Bedtime Story" feature to twice a week (and maybe more, depending on demand).  Of course, if this fails completely, then I'll have to have a bit of a rethink!  But please, if you're a parent, or you know someone who is, give this a go and let me know what your little ones think!

With all of that waffle out of the way, let's move onto the very first original story!  I hope you - and of course, your little ones - enjoy it.



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Sidney The Shell Bird

Sally Jenkins loved making things.  She loved her necklace, made from beads she’d found in the bottom of her mother’s sewing box.  She loved her set of paintings, sprinkled with glitter to make them extra special.  But most of all, she loved Sidney.

Sidney sat perched on Sally’s bookshelf, surrounded by toys and books.  His body was made from a lump of clay, painted pink.  His head was a large, pointed shell, with two black-eyed peas glued to it for eyes.  His feet were two smaller, slightly rounder shells.  Sticking out from his sides were two large, yellow feathers resembling wings, with a third yellow feather as his tail.  Sidney was a rather funny looking creature, but Sally adored him.  She took him out to play with her in the garden and she’d sit on her bed in the evenings, telling him all about the things she had done at school. 

Sidney was very happy living with Sally.  But there was one thing that made him unhappy. 

Every day, whilst Sally was at school, Sidney would sit on the shelf and stare out of the window.  Flying across the sky, he could see birds.  Real birds.  Sidney had seen his reflection in the glass and he knew he looked different.  He knew he had feathery wings, but when he flapped them, nothing happened.  He was too heavy to fly.  He was certain that he was a bird, but he had never seen another who looked the way he did.  Sidney longed to find out what kind of bird he really was, but none of the other toys in Sally’s bedroom seemed to know.

One morning, as Sally hurried off to school, Sidney made a decision.  “Barrington,” He called to Sally’s favourite bear.  “Today is the day!”

Barrington Bear yawned and rubbed one shiny glass eye with his paw.  “What day?”

Sidney puffed out his pink, clay chest.  “Today is the day I’m going to find out what sort of bird I am,” he declared.  With that, he hopped down from Sally’s shelf and landed on her soft bed, before jumping down to the floor.

“Where are you going?”  Eliza, the porcelain doll asked.

Sidney pointed to the window.  “Out there,” he replied.

Before Eliza or Barrington could say anything else, Sidney had hopped out of the bedroom, down the stairs, through the kitchen and out of the cat flap into the bright, morning sunshine.

This is it!  Sidney thought.  I’m out here, with the real birds!
For a while, Sidney simply enjoyed bouncing through the grass, gazing up at the blue skies.  Then, as he reached the end of Sally’s road, he spotted a pair of birds, shaking their black feathers as they flew down from the roof of a house.

“Hello!”  Sidney called as he hurried over to the birds.  “Excuse me, can I ask you something?”

One of the birds cocked his head to the side.  “Who are you?”  He asked.

Sidney smiled.  “I was hoping you could help me to answer that.”

“Whatever do you mean?”  The second bird replied.  She fluffed out her feathers.  “We’ve never seen you before!”

Sidney swallowed hard.  “Well...  I mean...”  He stammered.  “What kind of bird am I?”

The first bird laughed.  “You’re not a bird, are you?”  He chuckled.  “You don’t look like any bird I’ve ever seen!”

Sidney lowered his head and his yellow wings drooped.  The second bird nudged the first with her wing and looked Sidney in the eye.  “What my friend means, is you’re definitely not a blackbird, like us,” she told him.  “I’m afraid we’re not sure what kind of bird you are.”

“Oh,” Sidney replied.  “Thanks anyway.”

Determined not to be put off, Sidney left the blackbirds behind and continued hopping onwards, for what seemed like miles.  Finally, he came to a large set of gates, with a sign above them, written in large letters: “ZOO.”  On one side of the sign, was a painting of animals Sidney had seen before in storybooks – a lion, a zebra and tiger.  On the other, was a painting of two, brightly coloured birds!  Sidney beamed.  “This is more like it,” he declared and hopped through the gates with an excited bounce.

Before long, he stumbled upon a large, green bird, with an enormous, multicoloured tail.  Sidney gasped.  “You’re amazing,” he exclaimed. 

The bird nodded.  “Of course I am,” he said.  “I’m a peacock!  We’re fabulous creatures!”

Sidney grinned.  “Am I a peacock, too?”

The peacock stared down his beak in disgust.  “You?  A peacock?  Oh, absolutely not,” he sneered.  “Look at you!  You’re small and funny looking.  I’m tall and beautiful.  You’re nothing like a peacock!”

Sidney turned away.  “Sorry to have bothered you,” he mumbled.

Sidney trudged towards the exit gates, when he heard a squawking noise.  He turned around and looked up.  “Hello?  Who’s that?”

“Who’s that?”  A voice echoed.  A parrot sat perched on a branch, staring down at Sidney.

Sidney managed a smile.  “My name’s Sidney,” he called.

“My name’s Sidney!”  The parrot sang back.

Peering up at the parrot, Sidney frowned.  “You’re called Sidney too?”

The parrot began prancing up and down the branch, flapping his wings.  “You’re called Sidney too!”

Realising what was going on, Sidney shook his head.  “Never mind,” he sighed.  As he plodded towards the exit, he could hear the parrot singing to himself.

“Never mind!  Never mind!”

As Sidney passed through the exit gates, he was fed up.  Nobody knew what kind of bird he was and worst of all, they’d laughed at him.  With a heavy heart, he decided to go home. 

By the time he reached Sally’s garden, the sun was beginning to set.  The sky was darkening and Sidney was feeling glum.  As he headed towards the cat flap, he heard a voice coming from a nearby tree.

“Are you alright, little friend?”

Sidney glanced up.  Sitting in the tree was an owl.  Seeing Sidney’s sad face, the owl spread his wings and flew down to the ground beside him.  “You look ever so sad,” he said.

Sidney sighed.  “Well...”  He began, before changing his mind.  “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.

The owl shook his head.  “Oh, but it does,” he replied.  “If it’s making you so unhappy...”

Sidney flopped down in the grass beside the owl.  “It’s just...  Everyone has been making fun of me,” he said.  “And all I wanted to know was what sort of bird I am.”  He sighed and turned away.  “But I guess maybe I’m not a bird at all.”  Sidney rose back to his feet and began plodding away when the owl called after him.

“Not a bird?”  He exclaimed.  “Why, you most certainly are a bird.”

Sidney span round.  “I am?!”  He cried.  “Do you know what kind?”

The owl thought for a moment, the way that truly wise creatures often do.  Then he smiled at Sidney and pointed with his wing.  “Look at your body, made from the finest clay!  Look at your feathers, so yellow and bright!  And your head is made from a perfect shell.  And that is where your name comes from.  Sidney, you are a Shell Bird.  And might I say, you’re the finest example of a Shell Bird I’ve ever seen!”

Sidney gasped.  “Oh, thank you!”  He could hardly wait to scurry back up the stairs and tell all of Sally’s other toys the news. 

From that day onwards, when Sidney watched other birds flying past Sally’s window, he didn’t feel sad, or confused.  Sidney knew just what kind of bird he was.  And even more importantly, he knew he was already exactly where he belonged.


THE END


Saturday, 14 February 2015

Fifty Shades and False Media Perceptions...

This is the real me: I seek out doughnuts the size of my face.

"Real life" is a funny concept.  Sometimes, we talk about celebrities and what they might be like in "real life."  It's a reasonable phrase to use, seeing as we're talking about people we don't know, some of whom play fictional characters as part of their job, but it's also always struck me as being a little odd.  After all, whilst we don't know them personally, those celebrities are just...Well, living.  Every day is their real life.  We're just not a part of it.

The concept of "real life" is often brought up when we talk about celebrities being misrepresented in the press.  "Oh, I know she said a bad thing, but she's lovely in real life!"  It's an unfortunate fact that if a person is in the public eye, one wrong sentence, or one dodgy behaviour captured on camera can become their undoing.  Doesn't matter what they're like in "real life."  If the media wants to put someone into a box, then they will - whether that person fits or not.

Now obviously, sometimes a celebrity is labelled correctly by the press as a result of some horrible behaviour or views espoused when they thought nobody was listening.  No amount of "I'm not like that in real life" can really save them then and rightly so.  We have a duty to call out the things we see as wrong.  But when we do make a public declaration that something or someone is wrong, we really ought to do so having listened to the other side of the argument before making our final judgement.

All of which brings me neatly on to the subject of - you guessed it - Fifty Shades.  I know, I know.  I'm as tired of having to make these points as you are of hearing them, I'm sure...

Most regular readers of this blog know that I'm one half of the Fifty Shades Is Abuse campaign.  I say "one half," because it's run by two people (myself and the wonderful Natalie Collins), but truthfully, it's supported and perpetuated by thousands of people.  Far too many to list, here.  That said, Natalie and I are the ones who give the interviews.  The ones who put our names to the campaign.  The ones who are then quoted when articles are written.  As a result, we accept that people are likely to have something to say in response.  After all, we're criticising something that has sold a hundred million copies.  We're questioning one of the most hotly anticipated films of the year.  

The trouble is, whilst we understand that there'll be many people who disagree with us, it doesn't really stop at mere disagreement.  It crosses a line into judgement.  Sometimes, into abuse.

Real-life me has an issue with fake ice.  That's the smile of a woman about to fall down.

Yes, since speaking publicly to the media about Fifty Shades Is Abuse, Natalie and I have been alarmed to check the campaign's Twitter account and find death threats, rape threats, accusations of being anti BDSM (particularly hilarious when you consider that a great number of our supporters are members of that community), accusations of being pro-censorship (something we've refuted in every interview we've given) and pleas from Fifty Shades fans to do the world a favour and kill ourselves.  It's kind of ironic that people feel the need to defend a book that we've said features abuse, by sending us... Abuse.  

It's at this point that I'd like to suggest a little further reading once you've finished this, because if you click here, you'll find the Fifty Shades Is Abuse campaign's "Myth-Busting" or FAQ blog.  It's a link we often send in response to criticism from people who don't know much about the campaign and have made quick - and indeed, false - judgements.

So as sad as it is, I've become depressingly used to clicking on the Fifty Shades Is Abuse twitter page and finding that someone has sent a tweet wrongly telling us that we're dictating what women can read and demonising BDSM.  And I've become used to sending them the FAQ, which helpfully explains that we're absolutely doing neither.  And I've become used to far too many people responding by telling us they'd never read anything written by an anti-kink prude, so we can shove our FAQ where the sun doesn't shine.  Repeat ad nauseum.

Of course, there's something of a safety switch involved, in as much as although it's hard to take the insults and trolling anything but personally, it's not being directed to us as individuals.  It's not reaching our personal Twitter accounts.  Or at least it wasn't...

In the immortal words of Kenneth Wolstenholme, it is now.

This appeared on the Telegraph website, yesterday.  The link appeared this morning in my personal Twitter notifications.  Along with (you guessed it) accusations of being anti-kink (ironically, I only wrote a piece on freedom of sexual expression yesterday), accusations of being pro-censorship, judgements from people I'd never even spoken to before, countless misogynistic comments about my desperate need to "get fucked" and the odd threat of physical assault.  A fun way to start the day, I'm sure you'll agree.

Firstly - and bizarrely - the piece refers to Fifty Shades Is Abuse as a "ring."  That's interesting, because what we actually are is a campaign run by two women.  There was a "Fifty Shades Is Abuse Web Ring," which was set up purely so that people could easily access links from various writers who'd tackled the subject of romanticised abuse in the books, but it wasn't set up by us (although we were listed as a resource on information, due to the wealth of writing we've accumulated on the subject).  Anyway, the article suggests that I'm a member of the Fifty Shades Is Abuse "ring."  Nope, just co-runner of an ever-growing Internet campaign, backed by hundreds from the BDSM community and several leading abuse charities.

The quote attributed to me in the piece comes from an open letter I wrote to the papers after I first read the books and had been massively triggered by them.  I wrote it not as a Representative of Fifty Shades Is Abuse, but simply as a survivor of domestic abuse.  So to have my words thrown back at me by someone who is essentially tying the campaign to their own idea that we must be prudish types, trying to censor women's reading material is particularly hurtful.  With all of the hype regarding the Fifty Shades films, would it really have been so hard to have found a quote from either Natalie or I in which we're talking from the campaign's perspective, not discussing our own, painful experiences of abuse?  The rest of the media seems to have managed it...

And interestingly, my letter was published anonymously, too.


The author of the piece, Rebecca Reid, goes on to compare the Fifty Shades Is Abuse campaign to the furore over Lady Chatterly's Lover, reminding her readers that back then, people were trying to control what women were entitled to read.  The comparison is absurd and actually, massively offensive.   The writer claims to have done research before writing her piece, yet she seems to have missed the fact that in every single print, radio and TV interview Natalie or I have done, we have made two points clear right off the bat:

1. We are not anti safe, consensual BDSM.
2. We are in no way pro-censorship.

From our FAQ.  

So the idea that we're being equated to those who, decades before we were born, were trying to clamp down on what women were allowed to read in their own time is just ludicrous.  I was interviewed on the radio recently and one point I raised was that we had no intention of controlling what anyone was or wasn't allowed to read.  To lump us into that pro-censorship, prudish category is to undo any claims of "research" into the campaign.  The author suggests that we're implying that women need to be "protected" from Fifty Shades and she describes this idea as "patronising, offensive and utterly ridiculous."  Which, being anti censorship, we would agree with.  Which is why we've never said it.
Unfortunately, the author then goes straight for the "it's fiction" argument.  And yes, it is fiction.  And no, that does not make romanticising abusive behaviour okay.

I'm bored of having to break this down, so I'll do it as briefly as possible:

1. It may be "fiction."  But stalking, coercion, manipulation, unwanted control and threats are the reality for 1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 men.  Were it fiction that featured these things and depicted them as being bad, there would be no problem.  Instead, these things are depicted as excusable due to Christian's past (there is no excuse to abuse) and even desirable, as a result of simply calling Fifty Shades "a love story."  Or, in Rebecca's words: "sexy and beautiful."  When you take such inexcusable behaviours and you write them as excusable, perpetuating dangerous abuse myths in the process, you're going to find that it does more than simply "chime with abuse survivors," as Rebecca puts it.  It glamorises our experiences.  Imagine the worst thing that has ever happened to you.  Now imagine that thing has been fictionalised and people are saying what a beautiful, wonderful thing it is and how they wish it would happen to them.  Wouldn't you want a voice?  Wouldn't you want more than to be dismissed by the author of the fiction, as well as fans (and now journalists)?

2.  It may be "fiction," but it's globally successful and has been accepted into popular culture almost without question.  This normalises the behaviour within the books.

3.  "It's just fiction" is a really handy way of utterly dismissing the views of hundreds of abuse survivors who were deeply upset by the way their experiences had been romanticised in this novel. It's an easy method of not listening to the abuse charities who've expressed concerns.  It's a convenient way of ignoring the many members of the BDSM community who are warning that the behaviour in the books is abuse, rather than a representation of their lifestyle.  Imagine you're one of those survivors, or charity workers, or Dom(me)s/subs.  You've been trying to speak out for the past two and a half years or more.  And every time you're put back in your box with "oh, it's only a book."  They may as well be saying "oh shut up and stop spoiling our fun."

Rebecca asks where the women who supposedly want their own Christian Grey are.  Well... They're on Twitter in their thousands.

Literally the most depressing thing I've seen today.  

They're the people buying the "Property of Christian Grey" t-shirts.  The fans who see nothing wrong in dressing their children in "Mummy wishes Daddy was Christian Grey" babygrows.  They're the writers in glossy magazines, selling Fifty Shades to readers with constant references to how "hot" it all is.  Seriously, one of the main comments I've had from friends (and other journalists!) who've read the Telegraph piece is: "Has this writer not thought to look at how many women are openly saying that they want their own Christian Grey?!"

Rebecca then makes the incredibly tired connection between us saying there's abuse in Fifty Shades and people who say horror movies inspire killings etc.  She claims we're putting women in the roles of children and it's "aggressively patronising and frightening."  Except, the teensiest bit of research would have found this, also from our FAQ:

So inconvenient when people don't fit the box you're trying to squeeze them into...


So no, we've never said that we think women who read Fifty Shades are in danger of rushing headlong into relationships with abusive men.  We've never patronised fans or insulted their intelligence.  But what does the truth matter, eh?  There are people out there insulting a series of books and a film!  We must put them firmly in their place, without listening to a word they're actually saying!  DOWN WITH CENSORSHIP!

EL James herself has a tactic of blocking and ignoring anyone who criticises her books as portraying abuse.  The Internet equivalent of sticking her fingers in her ears and singing "la la la..."  She's ignoring criticism from the very lifestyle she claims to be representing, too.  Of course she does; her books have made her a zillionnaire!  Who cares about the critics; they're only on about the sex scenes, anyway, right?!  Even the Telegraph article which inspired this blog was sent to EL James by a fan, with the words "you can use this as ammo."  Which she then retweeted to her millions of followers.  "Ammo," short for ammunition.  Ammunition against abuse charities, survivors and members of the BDSM community.  Because we're not allowed a voice.  It's inconvenient.  It's ironic that Rebecca Reid's article does the whole "take this away, lest women get dangerous ideas" scaremongering, when in fact, it's those who speak against EL James' books who are getting the "shut them up at once!" treatment.  And despite arguments to the contrary, most criticisms of our campaign (and seemingly me as a person) seem to centre around the idea that we're prudishly censoring women's sexual fantasies.

Fifty Shades has made erotica for women less of a taboo subject.  We agree that this is a good thing - I said as much on the radio only last week.  I'm a writer myself and my current novel (in the editing phase) has several graphic sex scenes.  I even know the proper words for "down there" and everything...  I think it's a genuinely great thing that women are embracing their sexuality.  I've read erotica on and off for years and it's brilliant that we don't have to be embarassed about it anymore.  More power to us ladies!  I simply think it's a bit of a let-down that it was this book that has brought the subject to the fore, considering that the sex scenes are interspersed with a woman being stalked, controlled against her will, crying because she's so confused and upset at the callous way she's being treated and feeling as though she can't judge her possessive partner's behaviour because he doesn't know any better.  

Which is rubbish.  Fifty Shades perpetuates two major abuse myths:

1) If a person has been abused in their past, they know no better and their behaviour shouldn't be judged.

2) If you love an abusive person the "right" way, they'll change for you and you'll live happily ever after.

And yes, I'm aware that the books (and now film(s)) are supposed to be a "fantasy."  But those myths have been utterly accepted and are now used against those who criticise Fifty Shades.  

"You can't judge Christian, he had an awful childhood!  You're fucking heartless if you call him an abuser.  And maybe your ex wasn't either."

That's a genuine comment made to me on Twitter a month or two ago, by a Fifty Shades fan.  I should add, it was made in response to my saying that his use of his childhood to excuse his behaviour had triggered me horribly, because that's exactly what my abuser used to say to me.  Take a moment to let that sink in: a fan of a fictional character was placing the imaginary feelings of that character above the feelings of a woman who was saying she'd been abused.  They were using the myth so helpfully perpetuated by EL James to tell me that maybe I hadn't actually been abused, because maybe my poor ex didn't know any better either.  If it was a lone comment, I'd dismiss it.  But I get comments like that - as does the Fifty Shades Is Abuse account - almost daily.  Several times a week, we get comments either on our Twitter, Facebook or website, or here on my blog, such as the following (all genuine):

"Ana could leave at any time.  She wants it, even when she says no.  No sometimes means yes."

"Christian only stalks and controls Ana because he really loves her.  Some men show it that way."

"Yes he's abusive.  Yes he stalks her.  Yes he manipulates her.  But none of that matters because Ana loves him and so he changes for her."

"BDSM is about controlling someone, whether they want it or not.  If they agree to be a sub, that's what they get."

"Are abusers not worthy of love?  Just because he stalks and threatens her, should we write him off?  He doesn't know any better!"

When we say that Fifty Shades normalises abuse (and abuse myths), we say it because we see it pretty much day in, day out.  Remember who these people are talking to; survivors of real-life abuse.  People who work professionally in the field, as Natalie does.  Real members of the kink community.  It doesn't matter whether it's "just a book" or not.  It matters that there are real people, with genuine concerns who simply want to have their voices heard, but are being shouted down by the book's author (who once had the gall to say that seeing abuse in her books does a "disservice to the women who really go through it," as though we aren't those women), the book's fans and members of the media.

Rebecca's piece then goes on to once again use horror films, suggesting that it's shocking that we've not complained about those, yet we complain about Fifty Shades.  Here's the thing, Rebecca:  Nobody is claiming that Saw is a love story.  No glossy magazine is running featured quizzes with headlines like: "Could YOU date Leatherface?"

And yet we have Cosmo, Glamour mag and a whole host of others touting a man who stalks, manipulates, coerces, threatens and controls as some kind of romantic ideal.  And we have women nodding their heads and accepting him as such.  We have an author, rubbing her hands with glee as she promotes sex toys and claims that her books have saved people's marriages.  When you get to that stage, it's almost laughable to wheel out the "but it's just a book, guys" line.

Rebecca ends her piece by suggesting that the "mock-shock" over Fifty Shades (having sobbed into my pillow after reading the worst experience of my life romanticised, my shock is definitely real) has nothing to do with wanting the best for women and in fact, simply shames them for having fantasies.

Except... It is about wanting the best for women.  I won't say too much on the non-shaming bit, because Natalie and I have spoken about this time and again (research - it's not hard!) and we're pretty clear that if any woman wants to enjoy Fifty Shades, we're not stopping them or judging them, we're just asking them to read it with a more critical eye.  All we've ever done is ask for a discourse on abuse.  To raise awareness that in reality, the behaviour Grey exhibits is inexcusable and abusive.  To make very clear that he is not an accurate representative of the BDSM community.  To talk about why we have such high abuse statistics (that is shameful) and how we can educate young people on the warning signs to look out for.

It's not an insult to anyone's intelligence to say that emotional abuse in particular isn't easy to recognise in reality.  I lived through horrendous emotional abuse and not once did I stop and think "this isn't right."  I simply thought: "He doesn't know any better.  If I keep trying to love him the right way, he'll change.  I can fix him."  And of course I couldn't.  He was an abuser, choosing to manipulate and control me.  He fooled not only me, but family and friends.  Because abusers aren't all billionaires with private helicopters, but they are all very good at pulling the wool over people's eyes.

We say that Fifty Shades Is Abuse because stalking is abuse.  Coercion (through alcohol or manipulation) is abuse.  Threatening to hit someone out of anger rather than sexual arousal is abuse (NOT BDSM).  Controlling someone's life when they've actively asked you not to is abuse.  And yet we're being sold these things as part of a love story and it's being accepted without question.  It's fine to fantasise about Christian Grey - whatever floats your boat - but real people are justifying abusive behaviour (as evidenced above) because it's been marketed and accepted as romance.  Not just in the books, but in the glossy magazines, on websites and by every fan who's taken the time to tell me that I don't know what abuse is and that I need a damn good slap for being such a bitch to Christian.  And by every fan who's told me that maybe I shouldn't have walked away from my "poor" ex.  That?  That's the normalisation of abuse in action, my friends.

Whilst we might stand in a small minority,  raising our voices against this phenomenally popular franchise, we stand nonetheless.  We stand because we have to.  Because abuse is frighteningly common (far more frightening than people campaigning against romanticising abuse in fiction).  Because we owe it to ourselves to stop blurring the lines of what is and isn't full, informed, freely given consent.  Because we deserve great erotica, with fantastic sex scenes, with all the sexy, brooding billionaires you can shake a stick at - without the emotional and psychological abuse.  We deserve a different narrative than the frankly tired "hey, love the damaged guy even though he treats you badly and who knows, he might turn from a frog into a prince if you try hard enough!"

All of which brings me back to the idea of "real life."  Yes, most of us should be able to separate fantasy from reality.  But recently, I spoke with a young woman and her words really struck a powerful chord with me.  She told me that she'd read Fifty Shades and soon after, she met a man who reminded her - with his tragic back-story of abuse and his rather possessive and controlling ways - of Christian Grey.  Having loved the book, she was thrilled when they entered into a relationship.  He abused her.  She couldn't work out where she'd gone wrong; why wasn't this turning into a "love story?"  After many months of blaming herself and excusing his behaviour because of his past, she eventually left.  She tried to read book 2 in the Fifty Shades trilogy, but found it so painful that she couldn't get past chapter one.

I am not - even a little bit - suggesting that all fans of EL James' novels are going to experience what this woman did.  But by normalising abusive behaviour and idealising an abusive man, we're only making things that bit harder for those who do.  We need to talk about abuse openly and we need to get rid of ridiculous myths about abusers not knowing any better or changing with the love of the right person, once and for all.  Only when we work on the facts, will it matter less what we put in our "romantic" fiction.  Until then, I will proudly speak out as part of the Fifty Shades Is Abuse campaign.

We're not prudes. We're not pro censorship.

And we're not going anywhere.