It's kind of insane at the moment, with me prepping to leave America for Russia, and America prepping for its new president who could very well be Russia's puppet, and who doesn't deserve more than a few anonymous lines on my blog. Like all bullies he thrives on attention, and I have decided to give him none. The following four years I will focus on getting so good, no publisher will be able ignore me, and I'll either score a publishing deal or get on a best sellers list, or win a fantastic prize, which will get my stories out, and my stories are precisely about fighting the type of horror America is facing—the white supremacist patriarchy; the nasty, grimacing clown figure; the paunchy tit-squeezing pussy-pinching creep; the nightmare in pants with the fly wide open, swinging about his dick that has no balls to stand on, spraying saliva from his screaming mouth in the self-indulging adult-toddler tantrum.
What I'll be facing in Russia is going to be a big brick wall, the inability of some of my family members to face the idea that the patriarch of the family—my father—could be the monster I claim him to be. Therein lies my problem. He isn't a monster. He's as human as I am, and in may ways he was good, when he wasn't violent and aggressive, and I bet he still is. But the common misconception of a sexually abusive man is such that he must be some kind of a monster, which is false. Here is a great article on how this works and why—why adults routinely fail to protect their children from sexual abuse in families. You see, if the women of my family were to believe me, the safety of their own world would crumble, making them face their own pains of his and other men's past abuse, be it sexual or physical or verbal, and they just don't want to do it. "Don't stir up the past," they tell me, "keep looking into the bright future." That smacks so much of Soviet propaganda, it makes me want to projectile vomit. So wish me strength, in giving love no matter what, especially to those whom I could potentially trigger just by showing up in Moscow, in blood and flesh. I'll do my best to listen and to let people went, and I'll report here, hopefully daily, on my adventures. And there are many planned, including the visit to where one of the scenes in TUBE is happening—directly from my childhood.
I know I promised you a blog post on what reading The Silence of the Lambs has taught me, and I will. But I'm rushing to finish Janna outline before my meeting with my writing mentor on the 19th, and there is simply no time. But! While on the plane, I plan on fishing it. So watch for it. Soon. Soon.
I'll be back on February 16th, and as soon as jet lag leaves me, I'll get on the next draft of TUBE to finally get this baby done and out the door, so I can focus full-time on Janna.
So this is the plan for the coming month, and for the coming four years. Also, to drink lots of vodka on February 6th, my birthday, the first birthday in 18 years that I'll be celebrating in the city of my birth, Moscow, hopefully with my mother. I'll be posting lots of pictures on Instagram, and shorter posts on Ello, and even shorter tweets on Twitter, so follow me there for updates. And join my Patreon to follow daily updates on Janna's and TUBE's revisions. Thank you for sticking around with me on this crazy journey. Fun times are coming. The horror-story amusement-park kind. We shall brace it together. Let's hold hands and keep writing (or, I guess, hold toes, so our hands are free to write).