On Suicide and Robin Williams

In 2003, my dad came home.  I was there when he shot himself.  Only ten months earlier, a friend left a party, and I got a call about six hours later that he’d been found, dead, two hours before.  No one ever thinks someone near them could do this.  No one.  It’s easier to think that someone will just snap out of it, or if you ignore the person’s depression, it’ll go away.  The reality is, it doesn’t always go away, and in minutes, your life can go from same-ol’-same-ol’ to trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.

So many people think depression is a way out, that their family and friends will get over it, or be happy with them dead.  I’ve been there.  A lot of you reading this probably have been too.  But guess what.  You’re wrong.  Suicide rips families apart more than any other death.  Everyone wants to know if there was any way to have stopped it, any warning signs.  It’s not uncommon for people to find a scapegoat (I was the “lucky” one), on top of the typical fighting over who gets what.  When my great-grandmother Delia died, we saw it coming, and there was no blame.  No one could have stopped it.  Getting angry at the one who died for doing this is very typical.  On nice days, the days my dad and I would have jumped on his Harley and gone riding, I still find myself unexpectedly tearing up.  Damn you, Dad!  I still need you!!

When it’s suicide, because it could have been prevented most of the time, there’s all that blame and guilt that will erode at the family bonds, and it’s not always reparable.

I found out much later that Jonathan Brandis, a teen heartthrob in my teen years, hung himself the day after my dad died.  Popular opinion says he was depressed after his career started going downhill, which almost always happens to child- and teen-stars.  In reality, being bummed your career is in the skids isn’t going to be enough to do it.  The depression is already there, lurking beneath the surface of everything you do, and because it’s an evil demon, all the things non-depressed people can handle suddenly magnify in intensity.  A stubbed toe might “be a sign” that you should drive your car over a cliff.  Your kid saying “No!” might “be a sign” that no one could possibly love you.  Your career being over may “be a sign” that no one cares, you’re undesirable, so why not end it.  Depression is a magnifying glass.

About five hours ago, Robin Williams was found dead. Asphyxiation.  He hung himself in an apparent suicide.  You know him.  This guy.

His career wasn’t on the skids.  He was, and still it, and always will be, revered, not just in Hollywood, but in hearts and homes around the world.  Mrs. Doubtfire 2 was in preproduction, and even though at least Mara Wilson wasn’t on board (she’s got every right to not be in movies anymore), the rest of the cast seemed gung-ho, and fans, weary as we might be, would have lined up to see him take back the role of Daniel Hillard.  That’s his character who put on the disguise of an elderly British nanny to be nearer to his kids after a divorce.  In addition to cross-dressing, this movie also featured a gay couple in a role that, rather than making then out to be the butt of jokes, showed them to be mentors of a sort, his supporters and the sole people who knew what he was doing and why.

Often forgotten somehow is Mork and Mindy.  You say the name, and most people know.  The lack of syndication isn’t helping.  This is the role that made him.  Before this, his character was in a dream sequence on Happy Days.  Mork was so popular with audiences that the studio decided a spin-off was in order, and you bet it was popular!  Nanu nanu!  Largely forgotten or not, this role is to thank for bringing us Robin Williams.

Robin had an ability to give roles the heart they needed.  In 1996, he played gay nightclub owner Armand Goldman in The Birdcage.  This is before Ellen Degeneres came out as a lesbian on Oprah’s talk show.  The world wasn’t kind to gay people, and gay characters were often passed off for laughs.  He gave his character the heart and humanity needed to turn bigotry on its head, and made the homophobic ultra-conservatives into the laughing stocks.  I remember when this movie came out and people simultaneously loved it for its superb acting (Nathan Lane and Hank Azaria are both amazing as well) while also reviling it because the expected gay-laughs were sweet while the fools were the bigots.  This was a big deal, and a big risk.

Whether he was giving the world Peter Pan in Hook (which I watch once or twice a week, and have for years), or Patch Adams in Patch Adams, Sean Maguire in Good Will Hunting, or John Keating in Dead Poets Society (a film which, incidentally, has a suicide), he made you laugh, even when he would make you cry.  He had a magic to him.  The world loved him, and loves him still.  He’s a legend.

Yet still he felt compelled to kill himself.  A rich, white, straight man with a solid career, adoration, and things to look forward to, still fell to the demon-serpent that is depression, and partook of the suicide-apple.  All of his privilege in life couldn’t save him from the grips of depression, of that little monster that can claim any of us.

To make it worse, getting help doesn’t always work.  Many times it does, but not always.  Telling someone to think about how it would affect their families might not help, but may help someone else.  Telling another person to think of what they have to live for and look forward to might be what another sufferer needs to hear instead.  For me, it was always books when I was growing up.  My idea of hell was to die without knowing how a book ended.  These days, I get through my bouts of depression not my thinking of my family, but by thinking about the projects I have in the works that I need to see through to completion, and that is basically the anchor helping pull me through the doldrums.  But someone people can’t find things to look forward to, or wonder why they should continue living in their own personal hell for their families.  Wouldn’t their families want them to be happy, even if it means dead?

This is why it’s a beast.  There’s no way of knowing who depression will hit when the poorest woman could be one of the happiest people while the richest man can be so depressed that he takes his life.  Getting help can be hard when we not only don’t know what will help whom, but when ongoing help, usually involving therapy, can be costly.

If you are feeling compelled to harm yourself, please reach out to someone.  Anyone.  Your best friend, a stranger on the street, a blogger, someone.  Anyone at all.  If you can’t find anyone, check this list for suicide hotlines in your country.

If you know someone who you think is planning to hurt themselves, err on the side of caution and call for help, even if you don’t know where they are.  The last time I called for help, I only knew the girl’s city where she lived years ago, and she was found.  The authorities will go in high alert to tack someone down, even at 1am, to make sure they’re safe.  Taking someone seriously may save their lives.

Reaching out for help when you need it, and realizing it takes strength to ask for it, may save yours.

 

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

                         But O heart! heart! heart!

                            O the bleeding drops of red,

                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

                         Here Captain! dear father!

                            The arm beneath your head!

                               It is some dream that on the deck,

                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

                            But I with mournful tread,

                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

~Walt Witman

Dear Sue Grafton:

Last month you decided to tell young writers, “Don’t self-publish. That’s as good as admitting you’re too lazy to do the hard work.”

Interviewer Leslea Tash called you out on this, and asked, “[W]hat hard work are indie success stories too lazy to complete?”

Your answer doesn’t cut it.  “Obviously, I’m not talking about the rare few writers who manage to break out. The indie success stories aren’t the rule. They’re the exception. The self-published books I’ve read are often amateurish.”

Ms, Grafton.  Sue.  Listen up.  Plenty of writers get agents and book deals.  Very few of them will make a huge living out of it, if any living at all.  I know, or am connected to, several authors with traditional deals.  Kevin J. Cunningham hasn’t had many sales, despite having a wonderful debut novel. T.J. Loveless has written several amazing books that show incredible talent with the written word, and has had a large international following, yet is still struggling.  K.L. Bone knows what she’s doing well enough to be a guest speaker as places as elite as Cambridge University. Jenny Trout, writing as Abigail Barnett, has been on the New York Times bestseller list, yet she’s had her share of financial struggles.

On the other hand, having a traditional deal doesn’t mean a product that isn’t amateurish.

We lie there, panting together, waiting for our breathing to slow. He gently strokes my hair … Boy … I Survived. That wasn’t so bad. I’m more stoic than I thought. My inner goddess is prostrate … well, at least she’s quiet.

Literary gold E. L. James wrote there.  How much more amateurish can you get when dealing with “Inner Goddess” and “Subconscious” doing back flips and reading and peering over glasses, Lizzy McGuire style?  At least Lizzy was appropriately marketed to kids.

And pick up any Twilight book and open to a random page.  Point your finger down.  Read.

So what was that about how indies are the amateurs and a deal means quality?

Now let’s move on to the “lazy” part.  Oh, see, you tried a bit of backpedaling, saying becoming an author is about “taking the rejection, learning the lessons, and mastering the craft over a period of time.”  Did you know Stephenie Meyer (author of Twilight, in case your head is further in sand than I thought) sent out six queries, and went from having her wet dream about a teenaged boy to having a deal signed and delivered in just six months?  She skipped over all the rejection and lessons, and even after getting her deal, didn’t bother honing anything.  Even her fans called her out on that one.

Let’s go back to EL James, shall we?  Fifty Shades started out as fan fiction posted in fanfiction.net.  Ana and Christian were even called Bella and Edward.  Kate was Rosalie.  She admits this herself on the FAQs of her website.  See the last question.  Sure, she claims she edited the fan fic heavily prior to big publication, but when run through a processor, Fifty Shades, and its original form called Master of the Universe, are 89% identical.  Every so slightly rephrasing things and renaming characters accounts for the 11% change.

Have you heard of Anna Todd?  No?  Well, she wrote a fan fiction herself, based on Fifty Shades (these bad fan fics just flow…), tossing in the band members of One Direction.  It’s called After, and she posted it, in its entirety, on Wattpad.  You can read it all here.  Go on.  I’ll wait for you to try reading it.  Guess how she got her deal.  Publishers trolled the site looking for things with a lot of reads.  She didn’t even have to query.  Her entire process was write a fan fic without bothering to edit, and step two, sign the deal.  She didn’t have to query.  She didn’t have to learn, or work on the craft.  Neither of those last three authors did.

So tell me again how the path to getting a traditional deal is the one that teaches you how to be a writer.  Tell me again how indie writers are lazy and amateurish when you clearly have no idea the work that goes into publishing a book.  You don’t know because you don’t do the work yourself.  You have other people do the layout, the covers, everything.  Hmm.  I have a mind to call you the lazy one.

Now I don’t claim to be the best author in the world.  I don’t think I could ever hold a candle to the likes of J. K. Rowling, an author so brilliant that even when she published another book under a pen name, she again became a best-seller.  But do you know what I do?  I write.  A lot.  I research new ways to craft scenes, and push myself outside my comfort zone.  I didn’t shy away from a battle in Sacred Blood (have it for free), and to push myself further out of what I’m comfortable with, I’ve been writing a spite fic through a male point of view using the parameters another author I don’t care for (mentioned above) that includes sex scenes (I’ve obviously never had a male orgasm, but must describe one anyway) and trying to make sense of things that don’t make sense in canon.  I read books by authors better than me with advice on how to hone skills, and I experiment with different methods.

I research like crazy.  Every single location outside of private residences are real in my books.  If they attend an event the public could go to, it was a real event that happened.  I’ve had friends scout locations for me to make sure the freaking topography is right.  I consult experts in various fields to make sure that my information is accurate.

In addition, I do the layouts.  I’ve had to learn to do that.  I don’t have the money to outsource the work.  I do the covers myself.  Are they perfect?  To me, yes, though other people might not care for them.  I don’t care for your cliched covers, Sue, but that’s personal preference, and at least I do the work on mine.  Other indie authors who don’t have to still do the work of finding help while your agent or your publisher does that work for you.

Oh, and I queried like crazy.  So I’ve been in the trenches.  I had some interest, but the agents wanted me to give Sacred Blood the Fifty Shades treatment by having Juliette go back to her abuse and “reform him with her love.”  (Newsflash: Ana didn’t reform Christian.  She merely learned how to be content doing what he wanted so he wouldn’t hurt her.  Look up something called Stockholm Syndrome.  Google it yourself since I’m apparently lazy.)

Indie authors.  Lazy!!

Any promotion for us indies is going to be because of our own sweat and blood and tears.  Blood?  Guess what!  The blood on the arrow on the cover of Sacred Blood is my own.  I couldn’t find fake blood that looked how I wanted, and so I used my own blood.  I literally bled for my book.

If you still think Indie authors are lazy, I issue you this challenge: Pick a pen name.  But don’t tell anyone!  This is part of the fun!  Don’t associate “Sue Grafton” or your face with this pen name.  Write another book.  Don’t endorse it under your known name.  Pretend your pen name is a separate identity.  Now query that book.  See the responses you get, and consider if going indie will help you stay true to your writing.  Once you decide to give indie a try, learn the process of finding people to edit, beta read, edit some more.  Don’t use your riches.  Pretend you have a typical household income and a typical household to run.  You won’t have tons of money to spare, so you’d better learn to do it yourself.  See the process through.  Get your book out there.  Promote it.

Oh, and for fun, work on another book while you’re doing the above.  Maybe consider getting a day job too, since most of us indies have those, and do all our writing work on top of our work loads and taking care of our families.

Next time you want to call us indies a bunch of lazy amateurs, ask yourself why you won’t leave the comfort of your posh, traditionally-published-author life to rise to the challenge of putting on our shoes to walk the proverbial mile.

“I don’t need feminism because…”

Recently a blog was brought to my attention. To say I’m appalled is undermining the depth of my anger. Women Against Feminism is supposed to be edgy, and to put us women into our places. How dare we feel we aren’t yet equals? Yeah, how dare we….

In the first three months of 2013 alone, almost 700 pieces of legislation were proposed to control women. No one is saying things like abortion are exciting and should be celebrated with parties, but more women would die without them, and, let’s face it, the rich would still have the same access they always did (Jean Harlow and Judy Garland both had abortions in the 1930’s or 1940’s, decades before Row vs. Wade, and the rich had access even before that). Restriction laws affect the poor women who can’t travel to other states, or afford doctors willing to risk their licenses. Proposals against birth control… Well, we all know Hobby Lobby won the right to restrict access based on the religious beliefs of an inanimate company name that exists on paper. Funny how you don’t need to be alive to hold religious beliefs, and how those beliefs will never be different than the people in charge.

This doesn’t begin to get into other problems, such as unequal pay for equal work. I will never forget finding out that my make teammates, who were no more qualified than I was and who had the same job responsibilities, were making $6k/mo while I was making $4k. Now I know $4k wasn’t small beans, especially for part-timers, but the point is that, despite my work being the same, I was valued less because I was a woman, and the bosses admitted this when confronted. No laws prevented this. It didn’t matter that I was the one who took initiatives to fix problems, or to bring together our Moscow and US divisions after being put in charge of training the lead of our new Moscow-based division instead of one of the men. Solely because of what I have between my legs, I was worth less. What I remember was being confused about why my male teammates were so angry. To me, being worth less was business as usual. To them, it was a travesty, and the first time either of them had been faced with how much more they really did receive because of sex.

So this website, Women Against Feminism, was brought to my attention, and at first I thought it was Ladies Against Feminism, a horrid website I’ve known about for years, and was around to see the start of (“Since 2002, LAF has refuted the follies of feminism and promoted a strong, intelligent, biblical view of womanhood”). WAF is worse in that it’s women who are mostly not using religion to oppress women.

Three particular submission to WAF sparked this post.

(Credit)

I have yet to ever see a feminist claim that sex workers should be raped or murdered, or in any way deserve to be harmed or anything less than full protections under the law.  Every feminist I’ve ever encountered supports the rights of other women to provide sex as a money-earning service if they choose, and to have legal protection so that they are not afraid to come forward if a client harms them.  Slut-shaming is seen as vile, not something to be supported and celebrated and encouraged.  Thanks to feminism, women have MORE support now regarding sex work than they ever have.  While still illegal in most place, feminism doesn’t support that, and in fact supports full legalization so sex workers have safety and can contribute to social security to have the same retirement benefits as the rest of us.  Feminism is to thank for every advance, no matter how small, sex workers have had.

(Credit)

Oh boy.  Where to even start with this one.  I guess at the top.

~I do believe there is nothing wrong with having sex before marriage.

Well, duh.  Feminists don’t claim that there is.  We state that women have the right to control their sexual decisions and health.  Who does claim this is wrong?  I’ll answer that in a moment.

~I do believe that woman should not be put down is they have an abortion.

Again, feminists, even those among us who hate the existence of and need for abortion, do not support shaming.  Instead we try to keep safe access, and to work toward trying to lessen the need to begin with through such measures as trying to increase access to birth control to prevent unwanted pregnancies in the first place.  Access as all is only thanks to the efforts of feminism, and is at risk thanks to Teapublicans and places like Hobby Lobby that claim that contraceptive pills to prevent pregnancies are the same as abortions, and women who don’t want babies should keep our legs closed (no word against the men who don’t want to be dads and how they should keep it zipped).

I could address the rest (no, sex while drunk doesn’t automatically equal rape, but yes, society glorifies rape when the Steubenville whistleblower, Deric Lostutter, faced a decade in prison versus the year the rapists served less than a year, and women were blamed for not giving the Santa Barbara killer sex he thought was entitled to).  But there’s another point I want to make.

Who oppresses women?  It’s not feminists.  It’s other anti-feminists.  In case you didn’t know, apparently wanting to control fertility or have sex before marriage makes you weak, and it you’re strong, you’ll wait on sex and give up control over when you have babies.  Enjoy the very next post after the one above:

 

(Credit)  We need feminism because where else are we going to get the support we need to have the freedoms we do have and to protect them?   Who really thinks we wouldn’t face a downward spiral at faster than terminal velocity is feminism were to suddenly end?

We need feminism because no one else will fight for us to keep our hard-won rights that are jeopardized every day.  We need feminism because feminism is what gave us the right to speak without being harmed, to vote, drive, own property, and be something more than property to be raped and beaten win no recourse.  We need feminism because there is still a long way to go before we can be safe without it.