"The first rule of fight club,"

a sweaty, bloodied Brad Pit tells a crowd of men who are hopped up on a testosterone rage hoping to prove themselves, "you do not talk about Fight Club." And then Fight Club begins by becoming a group of closed ranks, each person gaining strength from their comrades in mayhem.

The first rule of being a victim/survivor is you do not angle another victim/survivor into telling their story for your benefit. Last night I attended a wonderful event to support sexual assault services in our area. As the hours passed, I was wondering who finds themselves at a bar on a Sunday night, shutting it down with the bartenders and wait staff. I found out who as a man sloshed his way over to me, drink in hand. His eyes strangely intent. He starts talking to me about what a great event this is, what a great cause to be raising money for. I agree and he tells me the story of a friend who was date raped, another raped by a stranger. It would have been a refreshing conversation to have if I weren't ready to head home to my bed. Recent conversations that I've had with local community members has been of the "She deserved it" type, which places blame on a woman who wears suggestive clothing, or drinks, or doesn't say "no" soon enough to give the guy time. Men, those creatures of lust, simply can't be expected to control themselves in certain situations or when faced with temptation. But here's a man, with concern in his voice, who understands that victims are not who we should place blame on. It's simply nice to hear someone, somewhere got the message. But then, the conversation changes.

"There must be some reason you're here," he says, "Something must have happened to you."

I contemplate my options. I'll never lie about it, but I'm resentful. Here, on this day, I'm tired and yet feeling better. I haven't been dwelling or crying or feeling angry, but here is someone trying to force me into a conversation I don't feel like having because he's assumed something about me. "Well....yeah...." I mumble.

It's obvious that I'm unwilling. I even feel my wonderful partner put his hand on my back and my intern shoot the guy a look. Because yes, he's chosen to negotiate this conversation in front of a crowd. And he doesn't leave it there. For the next few minutes he tries to cajole me into talking. He doesn't live here, I can tell him, he won't tell. He doesn't let up. Finally he tells me I can tell him because something happened to him as well. He launches into his story from there.

I've encountered story sharers before, which I love. Not of course that they've been assaulted, but that they'll talk about it. I've been a shoulder to cry on for other drunk men, read notes they gave me about their experience, listened to them during conversation. 1 in 7 men have been sexually assaulted during their life, 1 in 4 women have. That makes for a lot of us who have stories to share. I've never encountered one so forceful in pressing me to tell my story and I feel imposed upon by it. My partner tells me that this man wanted me to tell him my story so that he would feel more comfortable sharing his own, but that's not how it works.

The goal of our Fight Club is to be supporters of one another. Help each other through. Our first rule means you would know not to impose on another member in that way. This is not a game of you show me yours, I'll show you mine. As a member you know that not everyone is comfortable with talking and that there in a bar surrounded be strangers, someone who doesn't want to talk is no longer meeting your eyes. It's a code we have. And you, sir, you should know better.

What my poetry looks like....

"Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo.

Day 1

Miles covered: 759
States visited: Arizona, New Mexico, Texas
Where I'm spending the night: Amarillo, Texas
State of my cat: Annoyed

How old do I now feel?

Today is my last day of packing before I hit the road tomorrow. The apartment is in chaos, I'm stressed, and the cats are hiding. In my "cool down before I freak out" break I found this online. My post will not do this justice, either in terms of shock or my previous dedication to alternative music, but time and energy dictate that this post must be quick. Meet seventeen year old Spencer Elden. Does he look familiar? Maybe not, after all the last time you saw him was gracing the cover of Nirvana's "Nevermind."

That was 1991 folks, seventeen years ago. I now feel quite old.

Moving!

I'm sorry for my extended blog absence, but I couldn't stand to write on here without making my announcement so I avoided starting a post. But now that everything is officially official I get to let you all know what is going on with me and my mini-family. If you haven't been clued in by the blog title, I'm moving! Here's a picture of my new hometown:

Look there's a lake, some mountains, a lot of trees. I know a lot of people have wondered about my desire to live in a small town. but I just feel more comfortable and relaxed when I'm not fighting traffic and crowds. In fact my new destination looks similar to my actual hometown:


Wait a minute, they look suspiciously similar. Let's do a closer comparison:

Hmmm, I'm just not sure. I mean they do seem to have this in common:

And that is a pretty distinctive monument.... I'm going to go out on a limb and say they just might actually be the same location. Fascinating!

So in an act of contradicting everything that I've ever said about finding a job back home and living there, I'm packing my bags and heading to New York. And by bags I mean some sort of giant moving truck with big strong men and women to pick up and move my things for me (recommendations desperately needed). I'm sure I'll have more details soon, but expect me there in ohhhhh roughly 15 days. Scary!

The Uninhibited Writer

I believe many writers, myself included, would like to think of ourselves as somewhat free-spirited and given to embracing our creative muses. Yet today I was thinking about how many restrictions we internally place on our own productivity. For one, we worry endlessly about writing or not writing. Rather than accepting that sometimes we'll write more than others and take time off to soak in the world and relax, we instead greet those times (be it days or months) with a sense of panic as though somehow in this time we're taking off we are less deserving of the title "writer." Look at my example from last week, a few days of not working on my writing and I was already to throw myself into a full wail of panic. Of course this is after months of not working on my novel...see there I go again.

As writers we tend to also embrace certain rituals. We're just as bad as sports players but instead of wearing the same sweaty shirt for a season we seem to insist that the sun must be at the right angle, our pen the right level of inkiness, and our notebook the right size. Here's the real truth, none of those things really matter they're just a lot easier to cling to than forcing ourselves to embrace that we simply might be in a lull of creativity. We could do two things, embrace that, or force ourselves to sit down and get the work done. I've talked before in this blog that writers, especially beginning ones, flood the conference Q&A sessions with questions about how the famous writer standing up at the podium begins and finishes his/her work. These questions are designed either to make the writer feel better about his or her methods or serve as a blueprint to follow once they return to their own desks. For people who don't want rules inhibiting their work, we certainly embrace them as the path to success.

On a personal level, I've been so caught up thinking of my missing women in a certain way that I've failed to see some of the other ways I can explore the topic. I had extremely strict guidelines that I'd internally set for myself when writing these. The first was that I wanted each to be under 250 words to sort of keep the attention each received relatively the same. I recently found one that forced me to change that approach. I also was convinced I'd complete one section of my series before moving onto the next. This is the actual cause of my lack of work on these. I'm now letting myself swing back and forth between my sections. I already feel inspired again and can't wait to begin working on some this week. Tonight I'm doing the research end of it.

So fellow writers, do you have this same issue? Or if you're not a writer, is there something in your life that you're convinced must be done a certain way that you're incapable of thinking about it from other angles?