My Controversial Truth

I'm getting kind of tired of seeing posts about Amanda Todd. Yes, bullying is wrong. Yes, bullies should be held responsible for the repercussions of their actions. Yes, it is horrible when anyone feels he or she has no other choice left and does something irreparable. But if I had dressed and behaved like this young woman conducted her life at her age, I wouldn't have had time to kill myself because my grandparents would already have done it. Are you really going to stand there and tell me no blame should fall on the parental figures that enabled and the society that sexualizes the underage?

I'm Not Aphrodite, but I'm Sure as Hell Not Medusa Either

You know, I'm not some beautiful goddess by any stretch of the imagination, but that doesn't mean anyone in the universe has any right to say I'm ugly, either. Yes, I'm flawed. Everyone is, even Hollywood starlets and international supermodels and the everyone else who thinks they ARE those graven images of perfection. And you know what, ladies? Every one of you is amazing. No matter how many things you don't like about your face or your body, you're incredible. And I know how hard it is to believe that, because I can't really see it in myself either, but just look around you. You know those friends who see only flaws in themselves, whether it's weight or attributes, and all you can see is how beautiful they are? THAT IS HOW YOUR FRIENDS LOOK AT YOU. When you complain about the mole on your cheek or the ten pounds you need to lose, there is someone looking at you and thinking, "Why does she think she needs to change a thing?" There's someone looking at your photo and wishing for your face, for your body, for your smile that makes everything brighter--that same smile you hate because it shows too much gum. I hate that we live in a world where everyone compares themselves to Halle Berry or Jessica Alba or whichever other star of the moment. Yes, it's good to eat the right things and do a little cardio now and then and keep yourself healthy. But if I had my way, every woman in this world would realize how beautiful she is and stop looking for the flaws in herself, or in everyone else to make herself feel better. You ARE beautiful. And a hell of a lot more real than Halle Berry.

57 Years

It saddens me when I see these people who get together and three days later are "so madly in love." They're the reason the word holds no meaning anymore. You want to know what love is? Watch my grandfather's smile when he pats my grandmother on the knee and calls her "little bit." Watch her tell him he's silly but every single time he leaves the house, look out the window for him until he comes back. Watch him help her walk when her knee hurts too badly, or look in her eyes when he sings along to one of her favorite songs. 57 years of everything life could throw at them, from the Korean war to the death of their oldest daughter, hasn't driven them apart. Or maybe they just haven't let it. That's not to say that they're perfect; no one is, and they both know that. But I've learned so much from them and I truly wish that everyone out there had someone like that they could look at, if only to remind themselves whenever they need it... love is real, and tangible, and someone somewhere will make everything else in this world worth the pain. So don't settle for someone you know won't be there to hold you when you're 80. I know I won't.

Possession is Nine Tenths of My Foot up Your Ass

Okay this is really starting to irk me because I keep seeing it in my timeline... Why do all you girls seem convinced it's perfectly acceptable--and *romantic*, of all things--for a man to literally call you his *possession*? Does Twilight really have everyone so brainwashed that no matter how obviously oppressive and abusive a relationship is, it doesn't matter because you're *so in love*? And I don't want to hear any crap about how you're ugly or stupid or whatever and could never do better. Being alone is better. Trust me, I've been on that boat; it will sink and you will drown if you don't learn to lift your head and love yourself for who you are. You are beautiful and special and deserve better. Don't let any "man" convince you otherwise.

Epic Rant of Ranting

Okay, seriously. I don't want to read about people's drama anymore, so you know what? Here's some free advice: If your ex cheated on you, delete his ass, burn everything he ever gave you, and move on. Don't keep stalking his page or looking at his photos or letting him try to talk you into trying again. He didn't respect you enough to be loyal to you, so why should you respect him enough to even acknowledge his existence? Don't forget the experience, because it will teach you to guard yourself and that you never want to put another person through the pain he gave to you. But don't EVER, under ANY circumstances, give him the chance to do that to you again. Because he will, and then you'll have to move on anyway, knowing you were naive enough to believe someone who had already proven himself a liar. I know it haunts you, and I know you'll miss the person you thought he was, but someday you'll have that amazing realization. He was a liar, and you deserve better. Period. /endrant

Maybe. Maybe Not.

You know, maybe I don't know what I want out of my life. Maybe I'm a little broken and maybe I feel lost behind the smile sometimes and maybe I have no clue where I want to end up or even where my next step will take me. But I will find somewhere I can be at peace surrounded by people who make me happy. And you know what, guys? Maybe that's a destination in itself. So screw all of you who complain at me and backstab me and expect me to fix all of your life problems but disappear when all I need is encouragement. Screw anyone who says my dreams are pointless and I should be a good girl and content myself with whatever I'm given. I don't need your kind of friendship and I sure as hell don't need your brand of love. Maybe you gave up on making anything of your life long ago, and maybe you're right about me too; maybe I'll end up giving up and breaking down and shrivel into a broken husk of myself. But maybe you're wrong. Maybe I'll keep picking myself back up. Maybe I'll even find some people walking the same path who will lend me a hand. Maybe I don't have to be alone, and it's selfish of you to tell me to be and stupid of myself to believe sometimes that's to what I'm doomed. Maybe my destination, my happiness, lies right here in this moment, and all I have to do is stop listening to you... reach out my hand... and take what's always been mine.

So My Muse is as ADHD as I Am

I swear, I will finish this novel. I WILL. I SWEAR IT. UPON THE BLOOD OF THE THOUSANDS OF UNICORNS I WILL HAVE TO SLAUGHTER TO MAKE MYSELF IMMORTAL TO HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO FINISH IT IF IT BECOMES NECESSARY. But unfortunately, my muse is as easily distracted as I am and keeps giving me new threads of plot that my fingers are just itching to start on. In a couple of cases, I've lost the battle and wrote a little of them before I got back to my NaNo novel... but I will persevere, I swear it!

On a related topic, for anyone who would like an idea of what I've been writing for the past month, the title is "The Society" and the synopsis is as follows:

Thomas Quinn lives in a world where excess of technology is considered to be the bane of mankind after a tech-driven catastrophe decimated most of the world's population. Nature is nonexistent, for the planet had already been taken over by concrete and metal in the generations before he and his friends were born. Their city is a very rigid, structured place where every individual must fit into one category in which he or she can do the most good for everyone else. Thomas is a rare case, and faces a choice between two aptitudes: Oratory, the leaders and speakers who keep the city alive; or Challenger, the hardened warriors who fight on the front lines against the rogue mech that constantly threaten the people. But Thomas's dormmate, Joe Carpenter, is an even rarer case still—two days before Thomas must make the biggest decision of his life, Joe is told that he has no aptitude whatsoever. And when Thomas learns the fate that waits for those the council has decided cannot give back to their gloriously self-sustaining culture and meets the ones who have escaped it, his view of the society he's believed in his entire life may change forever.

Obviously, it's kind of a dystopia but without much of the sci-fi element that comes into a lot of them. There isn't a lot of majorly advanced technology because most of it was completely stopped when the former global society was destroyed... at least, as far as Thomas knows, right? Aaand if you just happen to be dying for more, here's an excerpt! If you like my writing, stay tuned--I plan on completing and editing this for publication via Amazon.

THE SOCIETY
by Tabatha Summers, ©2012

The sign lying in the gritty road read Lauderdale Memorial Parkway—pretty ironic, considering that no one around here had any idea who or what “Lauderdale” had ever been. Maybe he was some important orator who had united a people. Maybe that was the name of the cataclysm that had ripped the world apart. Then again, maybe it had just been someone’s pet dog.

But no, I was letting my mind wander; I had to focus! An important part of this challenge, of every challenge that Proctor Anders gave me, was to maintain my focus despite whatever odds and distractions were piled against me. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to see past the smoke and grime that veiled the city and whatever else might be lurking just beyond my sight.

There! Between the shell of a rusty old train car and the wall of what might once have been a warehouse was the target I had been sent after.  But as I honed in on the object I had been searching for, I became suddenly aware of the heavy footfalls behind me. They were coming, and there was nothing between me and the advancing army. I could either hide, watching them take my objective from a place of safety, or fight them and most likely be taken down. This was exactly the type of no-win situation that proved strength of character and will. Setting my jaw, I turned to face the footsteps and my own imminent defeat.

And then I thought of something.

It was probably crazy, so completely insane that I would surely be kicked out of the Challenger program if I was wrong. Yet as always, a nagging voice in the back of my head reminded me that I just might be right, and if I was, it might even be something no one else had ever thought of before.

A streak of yellow light cut through the fog, undoubtedly searching for me, and I made up my mind. If nothing else, I had to know.

I turned so abruptly that my boots sent gravel flying before I even took off. I heard a buzzing behind me that I knew meant my adversaries had pinpointed my location, but I didn’t allow myself to look back even as several more yellow lights illuminated the ground in front of me and the small leather package I was racing toward.

Something snagged my heel and I fell, rocks grinding into my forearms as I caught myself. I ignored them and jerked at my ankle, which I now realized was wrapped with a thinly coiled wire. The blue sparks coming off it told me that it was electrified, and the only reason it hadn’t already shocked me unconscious was that my boot had buffered the current before it could touch my skin.

Another attempt to yank my leg free was also to no avail, and then I could see the shapes of their bodies looming up ahead. Desperately, I tugged at the shoelace, narrowly avoiding a flicker of electricity off the wire as the knot came loose. Bracing my free foot against the heel of my trapped one, I pulled with all my might and somehow my foot came loose, sock coming within a hair’s breadth of the wire as it constricted the now-empty shoe.

I didn’t know how close they had gotten while I struggled and I didn’t stop to check, just launched myself forward with new resolve. I had barely cleared the entrance of the dilapidated train car when something thudded against the iron outside. Undoubtedly it was another electric lash, and it was lucky I had dodged it because I had no more time to spare.

Practically throwing myself out the other side of the hollow car, I landed in the grit and tried to slide the door closed as a temporary barrier. But the door was rusted and not properly on the track, and as soon as I heard the distressed screech of metal, I gave that up. Besides, if I was right, all I needed was the package.

Almost on cue, one of the yellow lights focused on my location, illuminating the carriage’s shadow and the small leather bag dangling a foot from my left hand. It was a courier’s purse, just like my mission briefing had described, and it was firmly stuck on a part of the train’s wheel that I didn’t know the name for. I tried to pull it loose, but neither the thick leather strap nor the corroded metal would give. Another electric lash struck the metal and bounced away, twisting on the ground like a snake made of lightning. I had no time for this.

For a second, I fumbled with the catch on the bag, and by the time I got it open, the shadows of my pursuers were so close that I knew they would be turning the corner any moment. Jerking back the flap, I reached inside and at first thought in a panic that it was empty. Then my fingers closed around a cube in the corner and I pulled it out frantically.

One side of the thing was about the size of my palm, and I had never seen anything like it before. It seemed to be made of two different types of metal set in with tiny flickering images under glass. I had no idea what any of it meant, and my first impulse was to drop the thing like a hot coal—things like this were dangerous! This was exactly the type of tech that had split the world, which every child was warned of in school from the time they were old enough to listen.

Then they came around the corner, and I realized I was wrong; they were the tech that had ripped society apart. Some had been built to look like men, with bodies made of the same metals I had just seen on the cube and glowing yellow spotlights in place of eyes. I was nearly blinded when they all focused on me at once, and ducked back to the other side of the train car for cover.

If I figured right, I probably had less than ten seconds. I didn’t think my heart had ever been beating faster, but I tried to ignore it. Ten seconds was enough time to figure out how this thing worked, right? Of course, that was assuming my hunch had been right in the first place…

I turned the cube over in my hands, my mind turning even faster. The tiny images, I now realized, were actually buttons, for they gave way beneath my fingers. The images even seemed to change when I pressed them, but I had no idea what any of them meant; they had only symbols, no words. Desperation took hold and I considered smashing it against the ground, though I doubted that would solve anything. But as my fingers clenched around it, suddenly one square lit up bright yellow. Exactly the same bright yellow as their spotlight eyes.

Heart hammering in my chest, I pressed the yellow light and held it in. Three seconds… two seconds… The lights on the cube abruptly all flickered off, and the motorized whirring of the mech-men’s footsteps came to a sudden stop. I almost didn’t dare to breathe as I leaned to check around the corner.

The mech-men had crumpled like marionettes with their strings cut, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been right!

“Excellent work,” said a familiar voice, and it took a tremendous amount of willpower to keep from letting Proctor Anders see that he had startled me. I kept on a straight face though when I turned to face him, inclining my head appreciatively.

“Thank you, sir.”

Proctor Anders was one of the younger instructors at the Institute, but he was probably nearing forty years old, and the lines around his dark eyes showed it. Just then, he also had a line between his eyebrows, and he seemed to be looking at me as if he couldn’t figure me out.

“Mr. Quinn, how did you know that cube would control the mechs?”

Something in his tone put me on my guard. I knew without being told that my answer too would be part of this test, and I cleared my throat to give myself time to think of the right words before answering.

“My orders in the mission briefing were to retrieve an item of vital importance that had been lost in enemy territory. The letter also stated that the item in question would be the key to defeating the mechs in the area. I was cornered, and I drew a conclusion; it turned out to be the right one.”

Proctor Anders nodded understandingly, though his eyes remained unreadable as always. “And how did you know the correct deactivation sequence?”

I didn’t recognize the words; I wasn’t in the Mechnotechnology program, after all. My expression must have given away my ignorance, because he repeated more clearly, “How did you know how to make the cube shut off the mechs?”

I smiled tightly, but I didn’t lie to sound smarter than I really was. “I didn’t know. But one of the screens started to glow the color of their eyes. I thought it was my best bet.”

“A very good guess,” Proctor Anders said, sounding satisfied. “You are certainly coming to show that you have the instincts to be a top-notch Challenger, Mr. Quinn.”

I finally let myself breathe again at that. I had passed yet again, where so many failed. The Challenger program was one of the most difficult to remain in all the way through ten years of aptitude honing, but I was almost there; my eighteenth birthday would be in two days, and then I would have my dedication day. If I made it two more days, at least—the last week of tests were known all around to be the toughest, set by the proctors to be completely certain anyone without the appropriate aptitudes had been weeded out.

“Here, I’ll dispose of that,” Proctor Anders said, holding out his hand for the cube, which I gave over gladly. He must have noticed my expression, because he smiled wryly. “They’re right to tell you that tech is dangerous, you know,” he said in a voice I hadn’t heard before, serious and pensive. “Uncontrolled tech caused a lot of damage to our world that can never be repaired—and you’ve seen a little of what the mechs can do in training.” He paused and scratched at the dark stubble on his chin before adding, “But not all of it is overtly dangerous. You ride in autos and don’t think of them like the uncontainable ones, right? They’re mechs as well—of a much simpler variety. And we still use small forms of tech in keypads on doors and everything else electrical. Lines aren’t always simply drawn between black and white or good and evil. Make sure you remember that, and never let anyone convince you to lose the ability to draw your own conclusions if you dedicate to Challenger.”

I nodded, and just like that his normal unreadable expression was back as he called on a short-wave radio for a car to take us back to the city. But I couldn’t help but think that perhaps Proctor Anders had just given me my first real glimpse into the mind of an experienced Challenger.

---