Generations of women in Russia live in a much closer proximity as compared to women in America. Grandmothers share apartments with mothers and daughters, and often granddaughters. I grew up in a typical household where in a three-room apartment lived my great grandmother, my grandmother, my mother, my aunt, my sister, and later my cousin. There were also four dogs (the number varied), cats, rats, and cockroaches. Though cockroaches weren't pets. Rather, they considered themselves the apartment owners, walking around freely and escaping every kind of poison the women in my household tried on them.
Read MoreRussian women and their stories. Part 1.
There are so many—so many women I've met, so many stories I've heard—and so many warnings I was given, warnings that came down to the same fear, "I don't want my family to know. I don't want my relatives to hear what I think. I don't want my friends to jeer at me, get disappointed in me, point fingers at me. I don't want any trouble." And yet all of them were talking to me, for hours, often stumbling over words, unable to stop. They all wanted to share. They wanted their stories to be heard. And I told them I'll make them heard. I asked if it was okay for me to write their stories down and post them on my blog. Some women happily agreed. Others told me it's okay only if I change their names. Some flat out refused. The stories they told were not always their own—they were stories of their girlfriends, their sisters, mothers, aunts. Stories like the stories Lyudmila Petrushevskaya was writing down, stories forbidden to be published in the Soviet Union because they revealed the ugly truth our government didn't want people to know. These stories still happen today. Stories connected to today's atrocities like the recent law change in Russia that made domestic abuse not a criminal offense but an administrative one. If Putin signs it, it will mean only concussions of broken bones will lead to criminal charges. Think about it for a second. And now think why these women were afraid of me sharing their stories. In light of this I have decided to write all of them anonymously, changing names and genders of their children or friends where I saw appropriate, retaining original stories in such a way that it wouldn't pose danger to the women who shared them with me. If you see anything that reminds you of someone you know, it's because these stories are typical. Which is a tragedy. These stories are our stories, no matter where we live. These women are us, and so the names don't really matter.
Read MoreROSEHEAD will be translated into Russian! And other news.
It has happened. Magic. Because I have met wonderful Vera Golosova on Twitter, and because Vera offered to host me while I'm in Moscow, and because Vera has wonderful friends, and because one of her friends is wonderful Sasha Zhuravleva, and because Sasha has been translating from English into Russian for years, and so it happened that over sitting together on a couch and sharing stories we have agreed to jump into bed together and do this. Sasha will translate Rosehead! My very first translated book! I had brainstormed the Russian title before with my former classmate Natasha, but I'd forgotten it since then. With a bit of thinking aloud it came back to me. Розум. (Pronunced as "Rozum.") The "Роз" part for the "rose," and the "ум" part for the "head," which is not a literal translation, but close enough to hint at the idea that this book is very much about what happens in the mind, and in particular in Lilith's mind. It also retains the asexual "it" image of the rose as a malevolent entity. A being. A force. In short, a carnivorous plant.
Read MoreToday I went through hell. And I won.
It started out innocent enough. I was on my way to visit my cousins, whom for easy identification I shall call sister Olga (she is like a sister to me) and brother Kirill (we spent a lot of time together as kids, growing up, and I always considered him a brother). I was excited. I haven't seen them for three years. And I was also worried. I dreaded the talk to turn to my father, and them avoiding it, as since I confronted my father about sexually abusing me when I was a child, about seven years ago, my close family has ostracized me, and it's only my cousins who stayed in touch with me at first, before my sister Nastya surfaced (she had a lot going on in her life back then), and then my mother and stepmother, my other cousin and my aunt. But it was Olga who fully supported me. Kirill never quite believed me and always shrugged it off as "the business between you two," meaning me and my father.
Read MoreI'm so tired of being afraid
I need to make a stand, but I don't know how. I have allowed one of my followers on Ello troll a woman, an amazing artist, whose post I have reposted to support her—a picture of her standing astride a motorcycle with a sign that read: IF YOU GRAB MY PUSSY, I WILL RIP OFF YOUR DICK. I have reposted it because I often told men face to face I will do exactly that if they tried putting their hands on me. I told it half-jokingly and half-seriously, that exact line, and they got it and backed off. So when I saw it, I was ecstatic. Here was a woman bold enough to say it. I felt we were sisters. And then I did everything wrong. I was sleeping in Moscow while that shitface of a troll started weaving his game. And when I woke up and checked the thread of comments, it exploded. So I thought, "I'll reason with him. I will be kind and give love. Trolls are the ones that need most love." What I didn't see was what my inaction was doing to the woman whose post I reposted. Not only did she have to suffer through his harassment because I didn't immediately block him, she ultimately had to delete it, and she felt used by me and demoralized, and she's right. I was helplessly watching the harassment evolve while doing nothing, afraid of somehow hurting the troll while he was hurting her and other people, and when I did finally block him, after many of you have asked me to do so, it was too late.
Read More