If you’re near me on the rare occasion when I’m singing, the answer to that question is yes. I’m totally and utterly tone-deaf. But in terms of the content I’m putting out into the world, all I can say is this:
I don’t want to be…
I haven’t really written much on my blog about the fact that I have a novel in circulation. I wrote it many, many years ago, and it’s called Hurricane Season. No matter what part of my life you read about, you’ll soon discover that my first book and my main character, Eloise Butts — the 33-year-old virgin from South Beach — are incredibly important to me.
You can still buy copies of this book online, but I’m not doing much to promote it these days because the reboot of Sonja Bentley Zant includes the release of the second edition of that book. (But I don’t know when that will happen yet!) Still, I’m proud of my debut novel as is, and there is so much in that story that I believe in…and, that I really want to share.
[NOTE: I will be uploading a post this week called, “Testing My Convictions.” It will go into deeper detail about how I currently feel about my first novel. So please watch for it!]
The premise of my main character’s virginity in my novel creates the most obvious entry point for me when talking about Hurricane Season. However, the narrative spins off into many other valuable social and emotional topics as well. And because the story is more layered than you might suspect, I love to tour with Hurricane Season on college campuses. College is a risky time of life when conversations about sex, sexuality, and personal responsibility easily dovetail into a novel like this one, and so it’s always been a great place for me to create a connection.
But even on my very first college tour — which was called The Kiss Chase & Cooties Tour — I knew I ran the risk of being a little “late to the dance” if all I wanted to do was talk to incoming freshman girls about their virginity. So I didn’t. I talked around that subject by offering my audiences a testimony of self-forgiveness, and by teaching them about the empowerment that results when you give yourself permission to define your “nonnegotiables” in life and in your relationships.
Everything I’ve ever shared from the stage about my novel and my belief in “nonnegotiable living” is still true for me to this day. But last week, I was sitting in a small group of women who were sharing their stories, and a phrase I had never heard before was offered up in the mix that made me question the quality and the tone of my convictions. This woman I don’t know very well had the courage to say something I could hardly believe.
She said, “My ‘special’ was stolen from me when I was five…”
Up to this point, the only thing I’d really thought about was the “special” a girl willingly gives away for whatever reason. But how hallow all of my words of inspiration must seem when such darkness dwells in the life of a woman who never had a fair chance to define something so deeply personal for herself? I felt all of the air escaping from my lungs as this woman shared her story of sexual abuse at the hands of several of her most trusted relatives, and my genuine grief over what happened to her when she was just a tiny little girl is still weighing heavily on me many days later.
I’ve already mentioned on this blog that I’m outraged about the realities of human trafficking, and as I’ve taken steps to educate myself, I feel small and overwhelmed at times by what happens to people. I believe we were created by God with a free will, and that dance between what I think I want for myself in my life, and what I know God wants for me is my usual playground of understanding and processing.
But human trafficking — whether it be for forced labor or the sex trade, or…through sexual abuse by a person in a position of trust — amounts to the robbery of a person’s free will when they have no ability to fight for themselves.
And when that happens, the swirl of noise, confusion, and ugly melodies ringing in my ears makes everything I want to say so much more loaded.
I may not have all the right notes to “sing” at the moment — and maybe, there are no “right” or “wrong” notes when it comes to an issue like this. Just singing loudly in my own broken voice about this horror is enough as a start. But let me just confess that the tuning fork of the reality around me is buzzing loudly in my ears. I hear the call to action, and I know I need to use everything inside of my creative being to step in and protect, encourage, and fight for victims of human abuse.
There was a woman in my midst who somehow found the bravery to share her story in a room I just happened to be in, and now, I can’t go back to believing I can only speak to one kind of women’s empowerment.
